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2020.07.13 17:42 ChristianWallis I interviewed the survivors of a mass suicide. My last broadcast will never air. [Part 3]

Part 1
Part 2
Part 4
The current subject wishes to remain unnamed and without description.
Rollins was a fucking trip man, Gene that is, not Peter. I never really knew the younger one, not really. His whole family were interested in custom psychedelics and there aren’t many labs still out there ready to innovate like I am. But like I said, I always dealt with Gene. The older one, he was funny and wild and he had a poet’s soul. I told him I wanted to drive from one coast of the States to the other and write a book along the way and he decided to join me, so we wound up hitting the road tanked up with so much fucking mescaline and peyote it was a miracle we ever came back.
Shame we were in Amsterdam at the time. I think we got to Utrecht? It was a blast anyway. In hindsight, we should’ve realised they don’t have many canal boats in Nevada. But like I said Gene was down to party and he spoke to me a lot about his old man who was a special case of fucked up. He was a mine inspector or something like that—a geologist maybe?—and anyway, one day he went down a dark hole and came back all kinds of different. He was dark, nasty, abusive in just about every way you could be and he insisted on home schooling his kids. Gene was around 16 at the time and just upped and left, but Peter? Peter was younger, maybe 8 or 9. Gene told me it fucked him up to leave his brother behind, but he had to.
When I finally met Peter he was a lot like his brother but a little darker, a little less fun. For the first few years I kinda thought of him as like a photocopy of Gene, something slightly different, maybe faded. But he wasn’t. Gene was all about the journey, the fun. Sex, drugs, and rock’n’roll baby. He and I were about keeping that dream alive right up into the Bush era. But Peter had very specific requests about what I made for him, and it was while working with him on the actual chemistry side of stuff that I realised he was smart in a way Gene never was.
You know you might get the chance to speak to some of the cops who went into that compound and uh, one of them got it right. He looks like a fucking gorilla in a suit but he got it right. He’ll tell you all those symbols and voodoo shit was just rubbish meant to distract and he was right. It was never about that. It was about the water supply. I didn’t realise Peter was putting this stuff in their water. Hell! I didn’t even know what “this stuff” was. He told what to make and how and I did it, sometimes doing other favours for him too, and he’d pay me enough cash to keep on tripping for a whole year.
Somewhere along the line Gene faded out of the scene. God knows what he’s doing now – cooking barbeque with his wife and kids and saying ‘ooh golly’ instead of swearing, probably. But Peter kept on ticking and sooner or later I knew we’d come to blows. You see, me, I’ve travelled farther than anyone else alive and I’ve done it from the comfort of my own home and let me tell you what’s out there. Let me tell you the secret behind human spirituality…
Nothing. We’re a bunch of hairless monkeys clinging to a fucking rock, just jerking off. Once you come to peace with that all that’s left is to grab a banana with one hand and your cock with the other. It’s liberating! But, uh, Peter, he disagreed, violently disagreed. Not only did he feel offended by the idea that there was nothing out there, he actually thought that the right mental state could be used to send out some kind of broadcast, a kind of “hey look at us over here!”. I never really learned what he meant, just that he wanted to get something’s attention and it was all about tuning his mind into the right frequencies and then sort of… broadcasting an idea. Later on he’d tell me that he was close, that it was all about getting the right numbers, like launching a dozen flares instead of just one.
I don’t know why I’m telling you this next bit aside. I better actually remain fuckin’ anonymous… But I sabotaged the last batch. I guess I had a bad trip or something. I just woke up one day with the idea in my head that he couldn’t be allowed to keep on broadcasting this signal out into the world, not with all those people. I don’t know. I never changed my mind. I’m still adamant there’s nothing spiritual out there, not really. There’s no meaning, that’s the only lesson we need to learn. But fuck, staring into that darkness one night, high as a fucking kite on acid, the idea that something might be staring back just wormed its way into me and…
I just couldn’t have it. I never really understood what it was I’d been making but I knew a few slight adjustments to it would turn it into coffee sweetener. Hell I’d taken it myself a few times and as far as I could tell it wasn’t even psychoactive. So what the hell was he doing it dosing his followers up every day with the damn stuff? I couldn’t say but… but I figured what difference would it make if I swapped a H with a C and turned it into chemical gibberish with no real effect on the body?
If something is out there, I didn’t want that fucker getting its attention.
I didn’t know it would… I didn’t know they’d built up a dependency. I didn’t know how its absence would… apparently it is psychoactive. And it’s also extremely addictive. And when people experience withdrawal they don’t experience it quietly. I know a lot of bodies were found peacefully resting in the main assembly hall, but do you notice how rarely the police throw around the word “poisoned” even though that’s the official verdict? They weren’t poisoned. Just look at the girls in that car man, they were fuckin’ butchered!
The truth is no one actually knows what happened up there. But deep down I’m pretty sure I was responsible somehow.
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This interviewee will not speak to me openly, but specifically wrote the following testimony and asked for its inclusion.
I was about 9 when we moved in. I hated it. I hated it something special. Dad left Mum when I was about three and he’d always been the provider. She had dropped school when she was 14 and had no qualifications, she had no home, no family, so she got a job as a cleaner and then when it became clear that wouldn’t be enough, she got another job, and then had to get another one on top. All my brothers and sisters were adults with their own kids and their own problems, so Mum couldn’t count on them.
I loved her right to the end. Even after everything that happened. I get it. She had a rough life and somehow she got caught up with this Rollins guy. She was so happy right up until she turned up and saw how young all the other girls were. Every night she was a wreck, drinking and sobbing quietly about how this was her last chance at true happiness. She couldn’t understand why he’d picked her to come along but even as a kid I knew why. I saw it in the way the teachers looked at us, the way they spoke to us. Our lessons were meditation, plenty of water, and hours spent focusing on different shapes and weird images. They looked like static and colours, sometimes videos, and every day we’d have to focus on them and it was hard but over time it got easier, better. Sometimes kids would fall over shaking, bleeding out their noses, mouths, eyes. Sometimes they’d start screaming and if they did they’d be dragged away and would spend hours drawing what they’d seen in the static.
It was a slow effect, something that didn’t go away just because you stopped looking at the pictures. Those images burned themselves into your eyes and that was the point. To this day I’m adamant they put something in our food or our water, I don’t know. The whole time I was there I felt different, funny, but it wasn’t like I was high or anything. I just felt watched, all the time. I think there was something about the combination of pictures and whatever they were doing to our heads that was the point of it all. All the masses and prayers and special rituals were just set dressing. It was the kids who mattered.
Towards the end, I started to get into it. I started to get this sense I was looking at something and it was looking back, but it was out of focus and it was like a kind of puzzle and I loved puzzles. I didn’t enjoy the way those pictures made me feel, but I hated seeing the other kids get rewards for doing better than me. If you drew a good picture, a great one, the kind of thing Mr Rollins would take for his personal collection, then they’d let you shower and have other treats. To this day I have never hated anyone as much as I hated the kids who got to have butter on their toast at breakfast time.
Looking back, it was sick, all of it. But I wanted to make my Mum proud, I wanted her to be happy. If I could be good enough to get Mr Rollins’s attention then maybe we’d get our own room, maybe Mum could have a day off on the weekend, maybe they’d let her work on laundry instead of having to clean their toilets. Peter Rollins was a nasty piece of work. He had his claws in each and every one of us. He knew exactly how to twist and turn his words so that you thought you wanted to do what he wanted.
They never did find his body. They never know what happened to him.
But I did.
It started slow. A few people started to get a little ill, not violently or anything. They’d just lose all their energy and start sleeping, collapsing where they worked or making beds out of whatever they could find at hand. People started forgetting stuff. Mr Rollins would forget his speeches during the morning communion. Our teachers would come in and just sit there staring at the walls. All the kids stopped playing one by one. We just turned into zombies and the word going around was there was a disease, but then other rumours started talking about a “comedown”, which I didn’t understand as a kid. The whole time there had been a sheen to life in that place, a kind of haze you didn’t realise was there until it was gone.
It got worse pretty quickly, even Mr Rollins got sick and went into his room and we didn’t see him again until right at the end. Soon people stopped waking up or leaving bed, and once the higher ups got it, all functioning broke down. We stopped harvesting crops, stopped going to town to buy essentials, we even stopped opening the gates for deliveries. Everyone was either slumped down somewhere or asleep. There were a few nights like that, of total silence, and then talking started. At first people would just mumble and it seemed kind of normal if you only saw one of them doing it. Except in the dorms it was obvious something was wrong. People were mumbling in sync, making the same weird grunts and half-words as each other and at the exact same time. Soon it was full-blown speech, talking about everything and nothing. Mum got it pretty bad, and she was one of the first to open her eyes. It was eerie, holding her hand while she lay there speaking in an unfamiliar accent, unblinking eyes fixed on some distant point behind the ceiling.
“Indices. Indecent. Recent. Reform. To feel the reform beneath us. Bequeath. Because. Because we feel the iridescent cries of nonbelievers.”
It was gibberish, all of it. But I remember sitting there and begging her to stop, thinking it quietly to myself over and over and over. Please stop, Mum. Please wake up.
“Please wake up,” she said, the choir of voices reverberating throughout the whole compound. “Please stop, Mum.”
By that point people had stopped drinking, eating, even moving. One guy had collapsed outside, face to the sky, and after a day or two lying in the sun his skin was starting to crack and bleed. Most of the kids were getting away with it half-alright. The sickness was awful, felt like getting hit by a freight train, like the worst God damn hangover in the world except you’re just a kid and you don’t know why. But we would still move around and try to help where we could, although all of us had pretty much spent our time riveted to the side of our parents, feeding and giving them water. Even the youngest of us got a sense that things were deeply, darkly, wrong. You couldn’t hear that chanting and feel any other way.
My mother was the first to get up. She threw her legs to the side and looked at me and she was still talking but looking right at me and all I saw was hate. It was the most terrifying, heart-breaking thing I’d ever seen. I couldn’t fathom why she looked at me like that but she did, and it hurt me so bad that I fell ass backwards and started bawling like a toddler. I knew she was going to kill me. I knew it and I accepted it because in my kid head I couldn’t imagine doing anything against her. She’d been the arbiter of my whole life, my creator and nurturer, and I knew there was nothing I could do to stop her.
My screaming rose to a higher pitch when she grabbed the knife, rising and rising until all sound disappeared and it became a shrill whistle of air escaping from my lips like a dreamer’s cries to wake up. When she stuck the knife in her throat, the nubby little blade disappearing into her skin like a magic trick, I stopped wailing and stared. She pulled it across the whole way, and I became aware that all around me other adults had stood up. One of them, I can’t remember, she was speaking, asking what had happened and taking it all in. But I wasn’t really paying attention to her. I was watching my mother whose throat had run rivers of red down her dingy vest. She wasn’t gurgling, or crying, or even moving much at all. She just waited a few long seconds before pulling it out and started again, this time on her belly.
I ran, slipping at one point and hitting my head hard, but I kept going, glimpsing people all over the compound rising and moving to unknown goals. Some were adults who’d come back normal, one tried to even grab me and herd me along with some other kids to a safe place, but I shook free and made for the fence. When a few dozen of the chanting adults finally broke down the front door to the farmhouse, that’s when the screams hit fever pitch. I’ll never know what they did to each other exactly, but it didn’t sound nice. By the time I looked back I was right by the fence, probably two hundred metres from the house itself, and I could see figures moving in the windows but the shapes were confusing.
I think they were butchering each other, and over the sounds of terrible cries, a few of them were singing. It wasn’t a sound like anything I’d ever heard before, but it practically knocked me out and I had to fight the urge to just collapse and give up. I knew there was a small spot near the fence that was big enough to crawl through, and that’s what I used to get clear of the house. It’s a long drive to the property though, a single muddy lane that I had to navigate in darkness. At one point a car came rumbling past and I nearly jumped out to cry for help but I remembered where it was coming from, and instead I jumped into a ditch and hid in the shadows as its blinding light flashed overhead. Once it passed I tried to get a look at who was in it, but all I could pick out were a few heads and something on the roof of the car. I think it looked like a person, but some deep rooted part of my mind told me it wasn’t.
In my nightmares I’m back on that road, walking and walking and I know it’ll never end and the sun will never rise. I might see a far off sign that tells me I’m close to the main road, but I know my eyes can’t be trusted. Just as I know that something has left the compound to come looking for me. There’s no cover, just open fields and a few hedges, but in the dark it’s all just inkblots that I can’t focus on, contrasting only against the bluish night sky that sometimes isn’t very bluish or much like a sky, but rather like a membrane of rotting oil-paints.
Mr Rollins… I found him clambering out of a storm drain way at the edge of the four mile driveway. Figures he’d have some kind of escape route, but the poor bastard hadn’t really thought it out. Somewhere along the line, he’d ordered it shut off with a cast iron gate locked with a padlock only he had the key for. That’s what he told me anyway, screaming and crying for some kind of help. He was naked, clearly without the key he desperately needed, and I tried to help him. But it was clear even to my childish mind that there was no moving that gate, not without tearing the damn hinges out of the concrete.
Meanwhile his cries kept growing worse and worse, and in the end I had to step away because he started to grab and pull at me. He was trying to yank my arm into the tunnel, casting furtive glances over his shoulder. I didn’t like the look in his eye, and when I heard the pitter patter of footsteps behind him I knew why.
“Please kid,” he sobbed. “Just give me your hand.”
Something clattered in the tunnel, just out of sight, but so damn close it was the loudest thing in the night. Just like that, all the pleading mercy fell from Mr Rollins’s face.
“Give me your fucking hand!” he screamed, his face bunched up like an animal’s. “Give it here and fucking die with me you piece of shit!”
I turned and ran away, terrified by the sounds that came out of that grate. Not just his screaming, mind you, but the actual sounds of what was happening to his body. I remember him saying on my very first day that when God’s gaze returned to our humble world, he’d be first and foremost in the Lord’s attention. Personally, I’m not convinced it was God looking our way at all, but I do think Mr Rollins was given special attention.
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Gary Willow is a former YouTube and Instagram influencer, better known for being a member of Riley Alton’s entourage. A lifelong friend of Riley’s, Gary left his job in 2011 to work for Riley’s growing production company. Specialising in urban exploration and spiritual phenomena, Riley’s YouTube channel boasted millions followers and viewers, although after his death the account was taken down and all content removed. In 2013, as part of a segment on mass suicide and cults, Riley along with Gary and three other members of his crew, broke into the Kentworth compound to film what was expected to be one of their most popular videos.
You know it was never fake. I’m not saying we actually got ghosts or anything, but everyone was so adamant that we just made it all up I swear half our audience were sceptics desperate to prove us wrong. Like at that abandoned club we went to in Brazil, where all those people got shot up, I swear on my life that door moved on its own. No fishing line, it legit just moved on its own. Riley was a lot of things but he wasn’t actually that fake. I’ve met a lot of influencers and yeah he was cut from the same cloth, but at the same time he was a lot better than most of them.
And it was me, funnily enough, who got wind of the Kentworth compound, not Riley. I got a tip from someone and usually they’re all bullshit but the more I followed up on this one the realer the story became. I couldn’t believe no one was talking about this place and the Rollins cult. Sure it wasn’t exactly huge in terms of fatalities but the sheer weirdness of it all was just awesome. Of course, in hindsight, given what happened to our YouTube channel it’s obvious why the story was so subdued and outright censored in some parts. Enough money can buy you just about anything.
We were such idiots. We rolled up there thinking it was a goldmine. We’d gotten so desensitised that the goosebumps on our skin and the voice screaming in the back of our heads to get out was just another sign we’d made the right call to drive all the way out there. Parts of the house were half demolished, windows smashed up, plasterwork pulled apart, tools and diggers still rotting where the last construction company had tried (and failed) to finish the job. It was perfect. You could walk into one room and get a shot of a wall half-crumbled, the bricks crushing a child’s tricycle, and in another room there’d be a dining table with the cutlery still laid out. I’m talking blood streaks on windows, fingernails left scattered over floors next to gouges in the wood, smashed in kitchen cupboards with children’s blankets balled up in the back, soaked in God-knows-what.
And it was silent out there, absolutely haunting, like when you’re at a funeral parlour and your mind starts playing tricks on you so you think you can hear the sound of something breathing but is it just the sound of blood vessels pumping in your own skull? Like there was this sense you could hear something almost embedded in the white noise of your own head, like voices coming from a scrambled TV signal.
Even when stuff started moving we all thought it was just great footage. Windows opening with no reason, doors slamming shut, music playing from smashed up speakers. We just kept goading it for fun, right up until we made it to the very top floor where the leader’s room had been. I went in first to get some opening shots and even though Riley and the others were no more than a few feet behind I felt scared, truly properly scared, for the first time. A chill came over me as if I’d just stepped on my own grave, and when I looked around the bare walls and ascetic bed I noticed something tore that a hole through my belly, like the whole world had dropped right out from under me.
There was a hand, a nasty misshapen thing, grey in the faint light of the moonlight, all the fingers different lengths like a mangled spider. It was a ghoul’s hand, the kind of thing you picture scratching at your bedroom window late at night. And when I spotted it, I stayed perfectly still, hyperventilating while I wrestled with the implications of what I saw. All that tension in me finally broke when that hand moved, inching slightly further out from beneath the bed, and I turned to dart towards the door. That’s when the door behind me slammed shut.
I dislocated my shoulder trying to break it down. Somehow, even with a large circular window set in one wall and the moon out full, that room started getting darker and I felt this cloying desperate need to escape. I was screaming so loud I didn’t notice the others were screaming for help too. All that mattered to me was leaving, getting out at any cost. I didn’t want to look back, everything in my head was just pure nightmare, so I kept my face fixed on the door that I punched and kicked while the skin on my back tightened and I got so damn terrified I could feel my vision start to blur. I was close to passing out, that’s how scared I was. It wasn’t just the shadows. No, I knew with absolute certainty that something was approaching me. The air was getting colder, a faint scraping was present just beneath the sound of my screeching cries, and that thing’s mere presence made the skin on my back crawl, and the feeling was getting worse with every second.
It got so bad I turned around desperate to get rid of the fear. That’s how it works, right? You scare yourself up over something that isn’t real, like say a hand beneath a bed, and then your mind does the rest. All you need to do is to reassert yourself, fight against the darkness and face it, and you’ll see it was all just make-believe.
But there really was something else in that room with me, a man or something like a man. He had long hair, straight hair, but his face looked like a mess of folds. There was no expression because he had nothing to express with, no eyes or mouth, just a kind of mass of churning skin like braided bread dough. I think there were eyes but they looked more like spider’s eyes buried in between the cracks of a crab’s shell. Something about that face, the way I couldn’t read it or its intentions, the way it so utterly defied everything I knew about living beings, it pushed me off the edge and I passed out. When I came to I was out in the yard, my camera smashed up and I was missing three fingers, bitten right off at the knuckle. Doctor thought it looked like a turtle had done it, and sometimes at night I get these images of my hand being dragged towards a snapping beak hidden beneath liquid flesh that’s damn and cold to touch.
There was no sign of anyone else around me when I woke up, but I didn’t stick around to look. I ran right out to the car and I drove away so God damn fast I nearly flipped the car taking the left turn out of the drive. Right by the property line, just as I swerved, I saw an old storm drain, something bolted over with heavy iron bars. I only glanced at it out of sheer chance, and I was going too fast to get a proper look, but I swear I saw someone’s hand gripping those bars. Not a nasty pustule-ridden hand like the one that had come clawing out of that bed, but a familiar one, a normal one. It was one of the others who’d gone with me, I think.
They call it survivor’s guilt, and they tell me it’s normal but nothing about what I experienced was normal. And I think what really gets to me is that deep down I’m scared that I’m not the only survivor, and that hand I saw gripping those bars? I fear that the owner’s still down there, still trapped. All of them, taken by that place and… and… and that’s the thing. I just don’t know.
I’ll never know.
None of us will.
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2019.12.01 16:00 Skulenta Hidden camera dorm room sex

Respect Willow Rosenberg "The magicks I used are very powerful. I'm very powerful... and maybe it's not such a good idea for you to piss me off." Biography Willow Danielle Rosenberg (born 1981) grew up in the Californian town of Sunnydale which — unbeknownst to her — was a center of supernatural activity attracting a variety of nightmarish creatures. Originally a meek yet highly intellectual computer nerd, Willow befriended the Slayer Buffy Summers and used her talent for computer hacking and later witchcraft to aid Buffy's Scooby Gang in their fight against the forces of darkness. Willow furthered her exploration in the dark arts in college alongside fellow witch/girlfriend Tara Maclay and continued to push the limits of her craft. While Willow boasted formidable magical power in the coming years, she became consumed by it and her abuse of magicks led to a deadly addiction that brought out the darker sides of her personality. After much loss and conflict, Willow nevertheless confronted her issues and established herself as one of the most powerful witches on Earth.
Sources Hover over a feat to view its source
Television

Comics
Intelligence Computer Literacy
Computer Hacking
Academia
Engineering & Robotics
Investigative Skills
Leadership Skills
Miscellaneous
Speed Durability Magic Magical Prowess It's been established early on that Willow is gifted with an inherent talent for magic. For instance, she was able to pull off an incredibly difficult soul restoration spell despite having little experience prior while recovering in hospital. This was a spell that Giles — somebody with years more experience and knowledge concerning magic — deemed beyond his scope.
Limitations Magic is fueled by mystical energy (also known as mojo), which can be drawn from within. No matter how powerful a person is, they still depend on this energy. Using too much magic at one time drains her energy which prevents her from using magic until she recharges over time or by getting it from an external source.
Magical Sense Telekinesis Telepathy Mind & Behavior Manipulation Teleportation Portal Creation Flight Energy Manipulation Energy Absorption
Energy Transference
Energy Attacks
Energy Barriers
Energy Constructs
Other
Pyrokinesis Electrokinesis Astral Projection Plant Manipulation Conjuring Transformation & Glamours Healing Stunning Locating Power Granting Technology Manipulation Soul Manipulation Miscellaneous submitted by Skulenta to respectthreads [link] [comments]


2019.10.02 17:33 PriorIntroduction7 Hidden camera dorm room sex

I started college in August. During my first week on campus, I met "Amy" and we became instant friends. From the beginning, I knew that she was gay, but it didn't bother me. I'm pretty open-minded, despite my upbringing (more on that in a minute). I knew she was attracted to me too, which I guess I found flattering. For a couple weeks afterward, anytime we were alone and especially when we were in her dorm room, she would start working on me, trying to get me to experiment with her. Finally one night, when I'd had a bit to drink and we were again alone in her room, I gave in and had sex with her.
I didn't particularly enjoy it, but it was just an experiment, so whatever, right? But after that night, she began pressuring me to sleep with her again. So I told her it was just a one-time thing and that I was sorry if she'd been assuming it was something more. She got really mad and that's when she got out her laptop and pulled up the video of us having sex. Turns out she'd had a camera set up and hidden in her room to film us. She's threatened to leak the video to my parents if I don't do exactly what she tells me.
Now, my parents are super-religious and insanely conservative. Tolerance is not exactly their strong suit. At minimum, they’d refuse to pay my tuition and I’d have to leave college if they found out I’ve experimented with homosexuality. The worst case scenario is they’d both disown me. And the worst case scenario is a real possibility.
Since then, I've had to meet up with her for sex anytime she asks. Thinking about those encounters as I type this makes my skin crawl. I always feel so dirty and used afterward. To her, I’m a human sex toy. I can tell that she gets off on the fact that I’m forced to do this and don’t want to.
I have to get out of this situation, but I don’t know how. If I don’t comply, she’ll release the video. I’ve thought about reporting her, but it’s only my word that this video even exists. I doubt the police could get a warrant just on my say-so. And even if they did do something, I’m sure she has a back-up copy of that video somewhere. If the cops don’t manage to seize it along with her laptop, it’ll get leaked eventually.
I feel stuck in a situation of mutually assured destruction. I can’t have my parents finding out about us having sex. So now I don't know what to fucking do. I hope someone has some ideas because I can't go on like this forever.
submitted by PriorIntroduction7 to confessions [link] [comments]


2019.02.26 02:12 clearliquidclearjar Hidden camera dorm room sex

There’s another list of all the regular stuff that happens every week, so don’t forget to check for all your karaokes, trivias, and so on. There are also links to all of Tally’s theater options, both stage and independent cinema (from fancy to cult).
HAPPENING THIS WEEK: St. George Island Chili Cook-off. They worked like demons to get the area ready to be reopened, so go down and support your neighbors. Check out their official website here and see all the delicious plans in store. 3/2, 9am-5pm
HAPPENING THIS WEEK: 2019 Tallahassee Jewish Food & Cultural Festival. “Join us at Temple Israel on Sunday, March 3, 2019, 10:30 AM - 4 PM, for an unforgettable event filled with delicious food, great music, Israeli dancing, kids' activities and more!”
HAPPENING THIS WEEK: Paranormal Cirque - Black Unit .“ This new horror story with different shades of sexy, a unique experience and incomparable context will bring you to a parallel world!! Be ready to escape to a new world -- Where monstrous creatures with hidden talents will amaze you with circus arts!” 2/28-3/3 @ Governor’s Square Mall
TUESDAY, 2/26

  • The Bark: Writers Alex Jaros and Kelsey Ward, presented by The Jerome Stern Distinguished Writers Series. 8pm
WEDNESDAY, 2/27
  • Dorothy B Oven Park: Geocaching Workshop - LifeLong Outdoor Pursuits. 10am/$5
  • Blue Tavern: A Storytelling Showcase. “Learning, surviving, thriving.....words of humor and wisdom bring diverse experiences to life when seven new storytellers take the stage for their storytelling debuts!” 7pm/free
  • Waterworks: Darwinian Revolution Science Salon. “Our host, Michael Ruse has spent a large portion of his life pondering Darwin’s Theory and religion. This evening, we’ll ponder, as well. The Darwinian Revolution: Did this Kill God? In 1859 the English naturalist, Charles Darwin, published his Origin of Species, where he argued that all organisms including humans are the end point of a long, slow process of development, from other lower forms. Evolution. He also proposed a mechanism, natural selection, suggesting that everything occurs through blind, unguided law. At once, Darwin's thinking was seen as challenging the Christian religion. To this day, many argue that Creationism -- a literal reading of Genesis -- is far superior. Six days of miraculous creation versus millions of years of slow law-bound evolution. Which is true?” 7:35pm
  • Blue Tavern: TJ Washburn. 8:30pm
  • Island Wing Company: Kat Hall. 9pm
THURSDAY, 2/28
  • The Plant: White Ribbon Gala Rehearsal. 5:30pm
  • GrassLands Brewing: Barry & Mike From The Brown Goose. 6pm
  • Fifth & Thomas: Word of South Lineup Reveal Party. “Join us Thursday, February 28th from 6:30 pm - 7:30 pm as we announce our artist lineup for the 2019 Word of South Festival! This exclusive event is open to current and prospective sustaining members and sponsors, so if you're interested in donating to our festival we'd love for you to join us! There will be food, drink, and free tickets to a live performance by The Black Lillies immediately following the artist lineup reveal.” 6:30pm
  • Second Harvest of the Big Bend: Blue Jeans and Blazers. “Please join us at the Second Harvest warehouse for an evening of entertainment, food and a “foodie”-themed silent auction. All proceeds will benefit Second Harvest and our mission to fight hunger in the Big Bend region. Single Blue Jeans and Blazers tickets are $40 each, VIP tickets are $100 each and sponsorship packages also are available. All sponsors receive tickets to the VIP Reception from 5:30-6:30 p.m., prior to the doors opening for general ticket holders. The VIP Reception features a Chef's Contest, signature cocktail, silent auction preview and more.” 6:30pm
  • Backwoods Bistro: Your Scumbag Neighbors. 7pm
  • Fifth & Thomas: The Black Lillies w/Flathead String Band. 7:45pm
  • Finnegan’s: Live & Local Night ft. Tony O'Donnell. 8pm
  • Junction @ Monroe: Noche bohemia. “A night to celebrate Hispanic culture. You will enjoy Hispanic music, theater, poetry, dance, and more. Invite your friends and come to celebrate with the Spanish Honor Society Sigma Delta Pi.” 8pm/free
  • Blue Tavern: Spearman Brewers. 8pm
  • Union Ballrooms: An Evening with Poorly Drawn Lines. 8:30pm/free
  • The Bark: Liana Gabel and The Star Sisters, Jacob FM, Sarah Morrison. 8:30pm/$5/all ages
  • The Wilbury: Juice w/ The Feeling Ecstatic, Trap & Release. 9pm/$8/18+
FRIDAY, 3/1
  • Krewe de Gras: Krewe's FINAL Mardi Gras Celebration. “It's our 10th and FINAL Mardi Gras celebration! We will be going out with a bang by hosting our biggest party of the DECADE! Friday 3/1 Masquerade Ball & Drag Show Saturday 3/2 Carnivale Party, live music by Tom N TheCats Sunday 3/3 (Gentle Sunday) Crawfish Boil with Live Music TUESDAY 3/5 Fat Tuesday and Farewell Bash! We'd love to see all that have made this place such an amazing experience for the last 10 years! We are grateful for all the support and love we've received over the years. Come Get Weird with us!” 4pm
  • Proof: Women Build Kickoff Party. “Let's get this party staaaaaarted! On March 4th, Big Bend Habitat for Humanity's women volunteers will begin building a brand new house for a deserving family! We invite our volunteers, sponsors, families, and supporters to help us kick this thing off! Grab some drinks and food in the Tasting Room at Proof Brewing Company and join us in celebrating this annual project that recruits and empowers women of all different ages, backgrounds, and industries to come together and make an impact on our local community. We'll have awesome t-shirts for sale, a 50/50 raffle, plus other sweet surprises! “ 6pm
  • Midtown Reader: March Story Slam - "Madness" Theme. 6pm
  • The Yard: First Fridays: High Test. 6pm
  • Crum Box Gastgarden: Johanna Imhoff/Loose Cinders/the Once-ler. 7pm
  • Fat Cat Café: Jazz night with Kitties. 7:30pm
  • Bird’s: Rags & Tinder. 7:30pm
  • Fermentation: First Friday Up-and-Coming Songwriter Night. 8pm
  • Proof: Your Captain Speaking. 8pm/21+
  • Blue Tavern: Frank Lindamood & Billy Weeks. 8pm
  • The Wilbury: INTRANET 3.0. “INTRANET is a concert experience that connects the local community to up-and-coming artists within the community and beyond.” 8:30pm/free/18+
  • Brass Tap (Midtown): Your Scumbag Neighbors. 9pm
  • Vacation House: GILT / No Cadence / Mindfield / Age of Misery. 9pm
  • Fire Betty’s: Lil' Grizzly Boogie Band. 9pm
  • Bradfordville Blues Club: JB’s Zydeco Zoo Mardi Gras Party. 9pm
  • Fifth & Thomas: Top Shelf Band. 9:30pm
SATURDAY, 3/2
  • Tally Auto Museum: Capital Craft Fest (Inaugural Event). 10am-3pm
  • The Yard: 850 Cornhole Presents: Tournament at The Yard. 11am
  • Magnolia Glass Studio: One Hour Heart Pendant Class. “A hands-on workshop taught by master glass blower, Jeff Hormuth. Attendees will learn how to make a glass heart pendant and get a chance to make their very own. Materials provided. No experience necessary.” Noon
  • Lake Tribe Brewing: Your Captain Speaking. 5pm
  • 926: Sanctuary at 926 presents The Cruxshadows. “with special guest Alpha-Quadrant.” 6pm/all ages
  • The Pavilion at the Centre: 2019 Tally Awards. 7pm
  • Junction @ Monroe: Blue Begonias (Grateful Dead tribute band) w/Jean McQueen and The Man Eating Machine. 8pm/$15
  • Oakland Ave: Kinetic Dreams - A Sonic Electronic Experience. 8pm
  • Black Dog on the Square: The Bryson Wheeler Band. 8pm
  • Blue Tavern: Mardi Gras. “Celebrate Carnival with John "JB" Babich on piano and Paul M Harvey on percussion as we play those funky New Orleans Mardi Gras classics. Get ready to parade around bar and let the good times roll!” 8pm
  • The Bark: Arrows In Action, Sage Monkey, Down The Line. 8:30pm
  • The Wilbury: Good Times Floral Shop/Palomino Blond/Dorms. 9pm/$7/18+
  • Bird’s: Conan The Destroyer: A Trash Cinema Event. “Hey Gang, The Primal Root here, inviting you to join us for an evening of Filth, Film and Fellowship as we present our Macho March Women's History Month celebratory screening of 1984's Conan the Destroyer! Join Conan in this oddball follow up to 1982's Conan the Barbarian as Conan puts together a rag tag band of warriors, wizards, and rogues as they traverse across their fantasy realm in search of a elusive magical crystal in order to obtain a sacred horn which legend says shall awaken the God of Dreams, Dagoth, all while escorting Queen Taramis' virgin niece, Princess Jehnna to a mystical island fortress. It's going to be one long haul of a quest, Gang! But thankfully, there are enough bloodthirsty monsters, battle axe welding maniacs and treaturous traps to keep the odyssey lovely and blood soaked!” 9pm/18+
  • Bradfordville Blues Club: The Brandon Santini Band CD Release. 9pm
  • Waterworks: Disco Party ’19. “Disco never dies and we’re here proving it at Waterworks Disco Party! We’ll dance to the greatest disco hits of the 70s and shine in our jumpsuits, leisure suits, halter tops, and platform shoes.” 9:05pm/free/21+
  • Fifth & Thomas: Jeremy Pinnell. 9:30pm
SUNDAY, 3/3
  • Nefetari’s: Happiness: An Art Show Hosted by The Fuzzy Pineapple. “Hi! In this show, multiple visual artists are finishing the statement "Happiness is..." The collaboration focuses on the origins and triggers of happiness. This can be expressed through realistic renderings or abstract themes such as color therapy, scents, or even sound. What makes you happy? Share it!” 10am-3pm
  • Millstone Institute: Millstone Plantation Permaculture Learn + Blitz. “Join Era at Millstone Plantation for a day of interactive learning about permaculture and the use of it in individual lives to communities. This class is designed for those just entering permaculture to those who bring more experience to the flow. The ethics and principles are heavily focused through the eyes of David Holmgren. During our days together we will be served a sit down locally sourced, vegetarian meal provided by the Millstone kitchen.” 10am-1pm
  • B Sharp Jazz: Salon Sunday. 2pm
  • Black Dog on the Square: Bluegrass Jam. 6pm
  • The Superdome: GREET DEATH, INTERNET GF, AND TBA. 8pm
  • The Armory: Protocol EP Release in Hell with Deviant, Armor, Blazar. 8pm
MONDAY, 3/4
  • The Moon: Gabriel "Fluffy" Iglesias: Beyond the Fluffy World Tour. 8pm
TUESDAY, 3/5
  • Ruby Diamond: An Evening with Griffin McElroy. 6pm
  • Fort Braden Community Center: Open House: Comp Plan updates (Land Use & Mobility). “The City of Tallahassee and Leon County are hosting a series of meetings to gain input from the community about the Land Use and Mobility elements of the Tallahassee-Leon County Comprehensive Plan, which provides the blueprint for growth and development. At these meetings, residents can talk to staff and provide feedback on the major takeaways of the Comp Plan update’s proposed Goals and Objectives.” 6:30pm
  • The Bark: Writers Keri Miller and Michael Taylor. 8pm
  • Blue Tavern: 1st Tuesday Jazz Sessions with Bob Dogan Trio. 8pm
  • The Wilbury: CDU Presents: The Bright Light Social Hour w/FayRoy. 8:30pm/$15 GP/18+
WEDNESDAY, 3/6
  • Ruby Diamond: Dr. Bullard: Building Just and Sustainable Communities. 7pm/free/open to the public
  • Blue Tavern: Julie Hauserman, Wes Skiles Slide Show. “Drawn to the Deep celebrates the life of an extraordinary adventurer who braved extreme danger to share the hidden beauty and environmental truths of the planet with others. Skiles felt a pull to the water as a child, captivated by the cobalt springs of Florida. His passion for diving and his innovative camera techniques earned him assignments with National Geographic and Outside. He also took part in creating over a hundred films, many of which won international awards and acclaim.” 7pm
  • The Bark: Pocket Vinyl's World Record Tour. “Pocket Vinyl, the unique piano/painting duo from CT, are setting out for their most ambitious tour to date: to breaking the world record for "Fastest to Play a Concert in Each of the 50 States". Their live show consists of a one man piano band performing song songs about death, sex, theology, and looking fear right in the face while a painter creates a masterpiece on stage, which is then auctioned off after the show. They're one of the most intriguing and engaging acts you'll ever see in a bar, coffee shop, or basement.” 7:30pm
  • Capitol Building: Florida International Women's Day Mobilization. “In the face of blatant attacks in our state legislature, it is crucial that we unapologetically uplift and center our stories and voices. On the first week of Florida’s legislative session and in honor of International Women's Day 2019, we join women around the world demanding justice for our families and communities and a more equitable Florida.” 6pm
  • Calvin’s Coffee House: Coffee & Conversations. “Join us for a discussion on religion and its relationship with the LGBTQ+ community.” 6pm
  • Moore Auditorium: Stand Up Downunder Presents: Marcella Arguello. 8:30pm
  • Blue Tavern: Gin & Razor. “A quartet of women who are all drawn to the great singers of the 1920s & 30s, Gin & Razor brings their verve to the tavern for a set, to start warming up for their performance at the Florida Folk Fest in May!” 8:30pm/$2
submitted by clearliquidclearjar to Tallahassee [link] [comments]


2018.11.02 01:54 handcrankedandroid Sex camera room dorm hidden

Max and Chloe don’t exist. They’re Peter Pan and Tinker Bell, the magical child and the manic pixie dream girl. Rachel is Max aged up, reborn and transformed in a ritual of fiery lust. Chloe is the Kewpie mayo, Max is the mustard and Rachel is the ketchup (or hawt sauce) to Frank’s Hawt Dawg Man. This is Brody’s backpack, courtesy of Kalikabanos Apparently, Mushroom is a “reused asset” from Max’s journal. Here’s the little angel Kate, sketching a noose on the The Tree from the Overlook. The same tree that 16-year-old Chloe draws 18-year-old Max being hanged from, even though Max was 13 the last time they saw each other. Next up is Kate's diagram of quantum entanglement (maybe?), which looks like Brody’s hobo symbol for “get out quick”- two people escaping through a portal, or two spears penetrating an eyeball (pump the eyeball to get out of class early). The same Kate who drew a little one-eyed wolf wearing a bandolier, just like the bearry-blue Sky Pirate and his 3 foam bullets, just like Captain Bluebeard and her 3 bullet necklace. The same Kate who was saved from falling off Blackwell by Miracle Max the magical child, just like Chris was saved from falling off a ladder by Daniel. Confused yet?
Blackwell is full of artsy kids because they’re all fragments of Frank, the man who animated them. Kate has two classmates who like to sketch, Daniel DaCosta and Stella, and all 3 of them sit at the same table in the nightmare diner. Birds of a feather flock together. Sean and Max are sketch artists too, always outlining their surroundings. She fills her journal with sketches of the day’s events. The Diaz brothers are Kate’s little wolves. Chris is Frank’s inner child, powered by youthful creativity. Charles is Frank as a washed-up athlete in a Springsteen music video, reliving his glory days through the TV. William is Frank all cleaned up, the too-good-to-be-true sitcom dad. He's not content being Dorothy- he wants to be the Wicked Witch, the Wizard of Oz and all the characters in between.
Chris is a sponge, soaking up pop culture from a million different sources to lay the subliminal groundwork for future Frank’s fantasy world. Everything he consumes is thrown into the mental blender along with his own life story. Each time TV’s Frank pushes the button a new schizophrenic smoothie pops out- LiS, BtS, and LiS2- but that same great Frank flavor always rises to the top. Beaver Creek is a combination of Leave it to Beaver and Wolf Creek, Greg McLean’s horror film about Australian backpackers being hunted by a serial killer. When Mark Jefferson calls his class “pesky kids” and yells at Max for snooping around the Dark Room, he’s mimicking an unmasked Scooby Doo villain: “And I’d have gotten away with it too, if it weren’t for you meddling kids!” The scene shifts every time you switch the lens- Rachel sees her lying dad kissing his mistress. James sees himself saving Rachel from a bad influence. Chloe sees a corrupt politician giving an angel the kiss of death.
Red, yellow and blue: The primary colors are very popular with comic book colorists, movie poster makers and Chris Eriksen. USA and Pepsi Cola, Hulk Hogan and Mickey D’s. Combine all 3 and you get Superman, the ultimate superhero. Click the CS title screen and the words flip from mustard yellow to ketchup red. All the logos were hand-crafted by Chris, yellow on the front and red on the back. Sean kicks aside the red, yellow and blue toy truck- the one from Chris’ house- before sitting down with Lyla. Chris uses the blue and yellow Power Bear to recreate Bane breaking Batman’s back. Choosy Diazes choose Bane brand ketchup. You and I merely watch the television. Chris was born in it, molded by it. He’s Max Headroom inside the boob tube, a deer in the snow globe. He’s Eminem (M&M) dressed up as Robin, Franklin the (Teenage Mutant Ninja) Turtle wearing a Fistful of Dollars-style scrap iron vest as his turtle shell. His shirt represents all the characters inside of him, heroes and villains alike.
Got My Mind Hallucinatin’ All of Frank’s hallucinations are birthed from a little seed, something that catches his ear or strikes his eye. It worms its way into his subconscious, a gut feeling that grows and grows until it explodes outward like a psychedelic chestburster. When something irritating invades an oyster’s shell, the oyster will wrap it in many layers of calcium carbonate before finishing it off with an iridescent coating of nacre. The result is a pearl, a strange and wonderful little orb concealing something unpleasant. An alluring fantasy built around a kernel of truth.
Frank’s pearls consist of 3 main parts. The first is an irritant, like a family that reminds him of his own. He responds by smothering it- Frank murders the father and “liberates” the mothechild. As Daniel says, “The mom was nice, the dad was kind of a weenie.” The third piece is the shiny sugar-nacre coating. He reimagines his actions as a sweet and sour adventure in Francis’ Fantasia, the delicious outer layer of Willie’s Everlasting Gobstopper. The dead are resurrected into, in the words of Matt Groening, “a sort of weird, zombified ideal of the American family”. A beautiful lie to protect his own innocence. Sean tells Daniel they’re going on a grand adventure, James hides Sera from Rachel, and nobody knows what William was lying bout. Sean makes a game of it to see how far they can walk. It's reminiscent of Life is Beautiful, Roberto Benigni’s movie about a Jewish family sent to a concentration camp. The dad spares his son from the horror by convincing him that they're all competitors in a grand game to win a battle tank.
Video games train us to see the world as our piñata. Smash these urns, slash that grass, run over those pedestrians and be rewarded with a grab bag of goodies. Mario bashes blocks and all sorts of powerups and coins pop out. Magic Mushrooms to embiggen the body, Super Leaves for a flying raccoon suit and Fire Flowers to become his fire form. If he snags a Super Star, he becomes temporarily invincible. The gas station is where all the seeds from the woods come to fruition for the Diazes. They read warnings about bears and see claw marks on the trees, then encounter a gas station run by a Mama and Papa bear with a bunch of bear carvings. They find a bunch of crazy mushrooms and up pops Mushroom in a basket. They spot a raccoon and Shazam! there’s a raccoon suit for sale. If Sean checks his bag it’s full of leaves- Super Leaves.
Sean listens to “On the Flip of a Coin”, raids the coin jar and uses a rock to force open the money box at the park. As Daniel plays the Power Bear claw machine he says he’s gonna “beat this boss”. He wins a Minibear, a red plastic egg with a baby Power Bear inside. Like Poké Balls or Chloe’s snow globe collection, the Catcher in the Rye’s gotta catch ‘em all. Frank is Megaman going from boss to boss, collecting their “tiny tools” and leveling up with each conquest. When Daniel power bombs the bear boss, the Super Diaz Bros. are showered in loot. Daniel-Sean is the young bear come to take down the grizzled Hank Stamper. Daniel even calls his bedroom the Bear Lair.
It’s a Peter Pan plan in action, over and over: Frank breaks into a house, kills the father and steals the child. Pompidou, Mushroom, and Baby Rachel were all taken from the rich to give to the poor. When Samuel's waxing poetic about Rachel, he calls her a good egg: a baby dragon. In the drama lab dressing room, Mario’s mystery block is floating behind Chloe. Rachel asks if she brought her flowers. Later they set fire to The Tree together, and Chloe rescues some flowers from her trashcan. The rope from the fallen tire swing forms a question mark as she cracks open the viewfinder to collect its coin. Life needs a little mystery, Chloe.
Flip of the Coin recommends that Sean leave his fate in the hands of a coin flip. But the flip is rigged by you, deciding which fork he should take. Frank can feel your eye gazing down upon him, your hand tugging at the strings. He’s been a very bad boy, so he hides his naughtiness under the blanket. Thomas Bowdler was the man who censored Shakespeare, Big Willie himself. Disney is notorious for neutering their source material this way. Bowers has Bowdlerized his own life- not just to protect his inner child, but also for the home audience. Best freakin’ fighters forever.. That’s a dollar for the swear jar! That is, until the shit hits the fan and the f-bombs start dropping- right before a real bomb goes off. Fun fact: Some freakin' idiot edited a line in The Tempest from “Full fathom five thy father lies” to “Thy Daddy’s dead, thy Daddy’s dead”.
I Think I <3 You Chris’ favorite book is a twist on Where the Wild Things Are, and references to it pop up everywhere. It’s about an angry young boy called Max who turns his own bedroom into a fantasy world to escape his parents. He tames the beasts within and becomes the King of the Wild Things. Swimmers are Otters, football players are Bigfoots, Rachel’s a dragon and Chloe’s a shark. Max becomes an otter in Chloe’s water, and there’s a graffiti shark eating an otter on the wall outside. When Chloe looks at Mr. Sharkie, she says, “Fun fact: shark babies eat their siblings in the womb. Maybe that's why I'm an only child?" The Tin Man frightens Dorothy with the threat of wild animals the same way Sean teases Daniel. Lions and tigers and bears, oh my! What a big foot you have, Grandma!
Daniel is always trying to one-up Sean and wants every animal he sees to be his pet- including the dragon in the clouds. He wants to be King of the Wild Things. Chloe tells Rodney and Rachel that no flamethrower, no army of robot ninjas, not even a dragon on a leash could stand in her way. Rachel is Frank’s Fire Flower flamethrower, his baby dragon in a bottle- the spark that sets Arcadia Bay ablaze, the inferno that roasts Duurgaron, and the hellfire he unleashes against all the raging bulls of his own private nightmare. A sentient tool, like Max the human camera/time machine or Esteban the living compass. On Chris’ wall there’s a drawing of Power Bear punching out Chloe, a ninja riding Rachel, and a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle fighting Hawt Dawg Man.
The Caped Eyeball is the one-eyed monster (One-Eyed Willie), the All-Seeing Eye, the Bad Dad that must be defeated. Frank is a hotdog harvesting hero, Kate’s backpacking monkey misses his banana, Hayden’s stealing all the pencils, Rachel’s rewriting Big Willie’s script and Barb punches the “stupid man cow” right in the dick. This is neither a banana nor a cigar nor a Mario Bros. pipe. How many sexually suggestive symbols can you spot in this picture of a Penis Bear sheath? Note the red and blue “spears” pointing towards the portal.
Next to the pirate ship in the hospital, there’s a toy robot and 3 stuffed animals: Chris’ Henry, Max’s Captain, and Victoria’s baby lion- which also appears in William’s car when Chloe is apologizing for decapitating Rachel. Mikey leaves a drawing of a time-travelling robot (Max) riding a T-Rex (Rachel) in Drew’s room. There’s a letter asking him for help with a robot in his hospital room. The same toy robot appears next to Robot Rachel, transforming into a Destructicon with the power of love. From magical child to destroyer of worlds, the Wild Thing that makes Frank’s heart sing. Jimi Hendrix, dressed all in red and yellow, made national news by sacrificing his red Stratocaster at the end of a performance of Wild Thing. He dry humped it, he fisted it and he painted it with lighter fluid squirted out of a mustard yellow bottle (positioned at crotch level). Then he set fire to it and smashed the shit out of it. It wasn’t very subtle. Spoiler alert: Max’s guitar is a sexual organ.
Lisztomaniac Lisztomania was the Beatlemania of the 1800s. Franz Liszt was a composer and virtuoso pianist touring Europe. Fans began swarming him, throwing their underwear on stage and clamoring for souvenirs. Coffee grounds and cigar stumps for vials and lockets, a piano string to make a bracelet- anything to give them a personal connection. This was well before the time of radio and TV, and celebrity worship of musicians was a novel idea. Lisztomania was considered a contagious medical condition.
To use Samuel’s analogy, Franz’s fans went after him like squirrels chasing food. Eliot stalking Chloe is a mirror of Samuel stalking Rachel. Hans Christian Andersen said an electric shock passed through the room when Liszt entered, and a ray of sunlight passed over every face. Eliot writes “when she left the room it was electric” and Samuel says Rachel was sunlight. Eveline Hańska said Liszt’s glassy eyes sparkled like cut diamonds lit by his wit. Samuel says Rachel is a prism and a dragon made of diamonds. Eliot says Chloe’s eyes flash bright like coins (Mario coins?)
Franz was the social equal of kings and queens. Rachel is Blackwell royalty. When he skipped out on a lover in the middle of the night, she broke all the furniture in their hotel room. Like Daniel wrecking the Three Seals room, or Chloe smashing up the Junkyard, or Chloe throwing a fit when she finds the pictures of Rachel and Frank. Doctors tried to immunize people against Lisztomania, so Max says fuck you to the flu shot.
Lyla creeps up behind Sean as the boy on the bus listening to Phoenix’s Lisztomania walks away. Her bookbag straps are covered in little bombs, like the album cover. Manic pixie dream girls are a popular fantasy- the quirky girl that seems to exist solely to break the awkward male lead out of his shell. Chloe takes Max from chickenshit to Everyday Hero and Lyla is Sean’s personal love witch. She’s the devil feeding his obsession with Jenna, the way Victoria fuels Nathan's destructive desire for Rachel.
Figurines, avatars and people are all fungible to Frank. Almost everyone in LiS2 has a hard shell of unmoving hair, like a Ken doll. But Lyla has a headful of snakes that jiggle back and forth with every twitch of her head. There are two other people with living hair: Doris Stamper and post-accident Daniel. The movement is downright unnatural at times, glitching out like Officer Matthews' dashcam, or Sean's souvenirs.. or Max Headroom. Hair is a fixation for several serial killers. Frank from Maniac scalps women to bring his mannequins to life, Quentin weaves Squirrel’s pigtail into a bracelet, and George from The Lovely Bones keeps a bit of his victim’s hair in his secret serial killer sketchbook. The most treasured trophy a Franz Liszt superfan could receive was a lock of his hair. He received so many requests that he bought a dog to send people clippings of dog hair in lieu of his own.
Lyla Versus Powerman There’s a lot of other weirdness surrounding Lyla. Her name sounds like the deflating lilo from Spanish Sahara, and she could be an aged-up Ayla from Can Ulkay's Ayla: Daughter of War. It's about a little Korean girl who's adopted by a Turkish soldier after her entire village is massacred- Frank's kind of story. There's also a horror movie called Ayla, about a 4-year-old sister brought back to life as an adult woman 30 years later. There’s a fuzzy red ball attached to her backpack, like a moogle’s pompom. Moogles are teddy bear fairies from Final Fantasy that speak in electronic squeaks. Every so often there’s a synthesized chirp in the background while Lyla chats with Daniel. Even stranger, someone keeps revving up a chain saw.. Before Sean enters the gas station, he finds an advertisement for an Ash-82 posted by Sam R.
It's a reference to Sam Raimi’s The Evil Dead, the first movie to star Ash Williams- who Frank has blended in his mind with Ash Ketchum, the star of Pokémon. Chloe’s tape recorder, Daniel’s fear of the trees and Daemon Merrick’s fire pokér incident can all be traced to scenes from Evil Dead. In Evil Dead 2 Ash cuts off his possessed right hand and replaces it with a chainsaw, like Hook’s hook or Barb’s ripper fist. He eventually upgrades the chainsaw to a Power Glove. It’s a robotic claw, and before that it was a Nintendo accessory. Combining the two gives us the Power Bear claw machine.
There’s a circular saw in Esteban’s garage, and while he’s down there Lyla will text Sean threatening to take his hot dad. Father and son can discuss Sean’s essay on Slaughterhouse-Five. Remember Mikey’s Slaughter-Maze of Duurgaron? Remember in The Shining, when an axe-wielding Jack chases Danny around the maze? The last thing Sean says before going inside is “Hello, Friday night”, perhaps a reference to the gender-swapping villain of Friday the 13th. In Army of Darkness, Ash travels back to the Middle Ages, where he envisions himself as a king blowing away witches with his “boom stick”: a 12-gauge double-barreled Remington. Chloe helps Rose by fetching her broomstick, and dresses up as a witch for Halloween. First Samuel sweeps, and then he paints. The chainsaw is Sean’s brum-brumstick, and he cleans house with the help of Lyla the Love Witch. Sean is the barbarian slashing, stabbing and bashing his way through hordes of dragonkins. Lyla and Daniel are the mages, terrorizing them with fire and ice, lightning and acid.
In Luc Besson’s Léon: The Professional, a corrupt cop named Norman Stansfield doubles as the Big Bad Wolf. He looooves blasting Beethoven and popping pills before hunting little piggies with his shotgun. Léon is a professional “cleaner”, a supernaturally talented hitman who single-handedly blows away teams of bodyguards. He’s strictly a lone wolf, with only a houseplant for companionship- like Louis Bloom or Max’s Lisa- until he meets little Mathilda. When Norman murders her family Léon takes the girl under his wing. As he teaches her how to be a hitman- his partner in crime- he slowly becomes the Woodcutter to her Red Riding Hood. Mathilda even wears a red beanie to match his grey one. Chloe says to Rachel, “I’m the lone wolf, you’re Little Red Riding Hood.” When the Big Bad comes to blow their apartment down with rocket-propelled grenades, Léon hacks open an escape route for her with his axe: The Woodcutter cutting Red out of the Wolf’s belly. Fun fact: In Pulp Fiction, the Wolf is a different sort of cleaner- he cleans up other people’s mistakes, erasing all the bloody evidence.
Now, imagine for a moment that there is no Norman, and Léon isn’t such an amazing badass. He fantasizes about killing trained gunmen while he's slaughtering unarmed women and children in their homes. Fine and dandy when he’s blasted out of his mind- but when the buzz wears off and he sees a little girl return from the grocery store to find her dead family, it’s a rude awakening. So the Big Bad Wolf reluctantly becomes the Woodcutter. At the end Léon suicide bombs Norman and Mathilda goes back to being a schoolgirl. She’s the one telling his story, but she never actually saw who murdered her family. Frank is recreating this, and the noble sacrifice is his ultimate fantasy. Barb impaled on Duurgaron’s blade as she smashes his bracer, Chloe taking a bullet for the Bay, Jesus dying for our sins. Chloe’s sacrifice is her superhero ending.
Frank prepares to “jugulate” the Diazes with Phoenix’s Lisztomania, a song about a broken-hearted boy whose first love turned him into a wolf. For Rachel, it’s Broods’ Taking You There: “In the dead of night I'll meet you in my sleep, and in the morning light you'll wake up next to me.” The camera tracks Rachel and Chloe from the strangest angles: Frank’s POV as he stalks them from the bushes. He listens to Syd Matters’ To All of You, a song comparing American girls to dolls, before following Chloe into the girl’s room. Each time Frank descends into Hell as a devil and comes back up an angel. Reborn from the ashes like a phoenix, with a new face and a new Beanie Baby at his side. Chloe is the Corpse Bride of Frankenstein.
Talkin’ Chainsaws The unidentified electronic twang from Lyla’s conversation also evokes Terry Cashman’s baseball song Willie, Mickey and the Duke, which has a similar sound effect when Terry time warps to the 1980s. There are many references to baseball: The glass lens, Frank’s cap, Brett and Frank’s tees, Chris’ baseball cards and Chloe’s bat. Harry Aaron Prescott is Sean Prescott’s father, and Hank Stamper is the bearish father figure that Sean must defeat. They’re both nicknames for Henry- as in Hammerin’ Hank Aaron, the man who broke Babe Ruth’s home run record. Chloe hammers the vending machine until it gives up its Baby Ruth. Chris’ teddy bear Henry is a chip off the old block. Most important of all is the ball and glove from Sean’s sketchbook. The Texas Chain Saw Massacre features Leatherface, a chainsaw wielding fellow who wears a home-made skin mask inspired by Ed Gein. It makes his head look like the unholy love child of an oversized baseball and its glove. Together, Lyla and Sean are Lilo and Stitch.
Bringing this insane mashup full circle is Fun and Fancy Free, a Disney double feature narrated in live-action sequences. The second half stars Mickey, Donald and Goofy as 3 peasants who face off vs Willie, a magical giant with the powers of flight, invisibility and shapeshifting. Willie the giant is the god-like father figure and Mickey is the rebellious young buck who slays him, like Mickey Knox. Except Willie resurrects at the end of the movie, escaping the cartoon and tearing the roof off the narrator’s house: William jumping out of Chloe’s dreams and into her truck. He’s Chloe’s dark passenger, à la Dexter Morgan: the childhood trauma driving her to kill.
To follow Frank’s train of thought, you have to let your mind flow in an abstract stream of consciousness, each idea merging into the next. He takes Bruce Lee’s words to heart- “Be formless, like water.” Willie, Mickey and the Duke begins “The Whiz Kids had won it”- to Frank, that’s Sidney Lumet’s The Wiz with Diana Ross as Dorothy and Michael Jackson as The Scarecrow. Hence the wizard teddy in Mikey’s room. Willie Mays could be the greatest five-tool baseball player of all time. Frank uses his father’s toolbox to do his work- Torches and icepicks and chainsaws, oh my! Mays shares his birth year and the year of his MLB debut with Mickey Mantle, possibly the greatest switch hitter of all time. Switch hitting, ambidexterity, gender fluidity and shapeshifting- the essence of Frank.
The Duke was a triple threat, excelling at baseball, basketball and football- perhaps why the Eriksens are a basketball family and the Norths are a football family. There’s a baseball movie called Major League where the players have recycled names like Willie Mays Hayes and The Duke. Charlie Sheen is “Wild Thing”, who becomes a star pitcher after getting glasses. Cashman’s song also has a line about Yogi Berra- the inspiration for Yogi Bear- reading the comics all the while. Daniel is Boo-Boo, Yogi’s baby bear sidekick. “Hey hey, Boo-Boo” becomes a text from Lyla calling Daniel her boo, and “We must not forget ze booze!”- that is, the boos.
The first half of Fun and Fancy Free is Bongo the bear’s coming of age tale as he battles Lumpjaw for Lulubelle’s paw. Bongo, of course, is the name of Chloe’s dead cat-not-really-a-cat. Hank Stamper is Lumpjaw. Jiminy Cricket is playing the story on a record player next to a doll (Lulu) and a teddy bear (Bongo). Bongo’s primary weapon is his unicycle, which he uses like a buzzsaw vs Lumpjaw’s vicious claws and giant tree cudgel. Chris plays his angelic mother’s old record when he wants to hear Moon and Moon. The singer is a huntress searching for a bear to lick her clean, a husband to come shoot the big bad hand that’s pushing her down. It seems Papa Power Bear put Baby in the corner.
Travis Keaton Arthur Miller, the Trinity Killer from Dexter, has a predictable cycle. First he finds a 10-year-old boy and lures him to a hidden location. He pretends to be a cop to gain his trust. He makes the boy dress up in PJs and calls him Arthur as they play trains together. Then he feeds him special ice cream and buries the sleeping boy alive in cement. Arthur is Peter Panning himself, preserving his own innocence before “the accident”.
Next he finds a young woman like his sister Vera. He forces her into a bathtub with him, “hugging” her from behind as he slices an artery in her leg. He uses a hand mirror to watch her face as she bleeds out, then cleanses himself in a scalding hot shower. When Arthur was 10, he peeped on Vera in the shower. She saw his face in the mirror and slipped, crashing into the shower doors. A shard of glass cut her leg and she bled to death. Arthur lost his sister and his childhood innocence on the same day: Chloe losing William and Max back to back.
The third actor is a mother of two. He takes her up to a rooftop and orders her to jump. If she refuses he threatens her children. Arthur’s mother Marsha jumped off a bridge after Vera’s death. The final victim is an older man, preferably an alcoholic. Sometimes he splits this part between two men. He picks a fight with the first, allowing “Henry” to beat him down. Later he returns to bludgeon Henry with a hammer: Hammerin’ Hank. Henry blamed Arthur for Marsha and Vera’s deaths, making his life hell until Arthur got big enough to silence him. Charles blames Chris for Emily’s death and Chris clearly wants to kill him- he shoots Charles’ head, roasts his reflection and blows up his snow effigy. Chloe fantasizes about murdering David as she looks for his wrench. Esteban is in a very vulnerable position when “Sean” enters the garage- he can’t see who came in. When Brett picks a fight with Sean, he’s already covered in bloody hand prints.
Consider Jefferson’s master plan. First he takes photos of Kate “sleeping” like an angel- preserving her innocence on film. He releases the video of her corruption, encouraging other students to bully her. Jefferson acts like an older brother or a cool uncle, and he grooms Kate to see him as a father figure. When she comes to him for support he blames her and says she’s just looking for attention. If Max is sympathetic, he says Kate doth protest too much- basically calling her a slut. Innocent Kate is little Mark, and corrupted Kate is his mom jumping to her doom. If Jefferson and the Trinity Killer ever met, they’d be BFF.
Team Killer Let me tell you about the other TK that Frank idolizes- Ted Kaczynski, the brilliant mathematician who tried to turn back the clock on civilization and rewind us to our hunter-gatherer roots. As a child he was temporarily quarantined in an isolation facility, leading him to empathize with caged animals. After scoring 167 on an IQ test he was skipped ahead to the 6th grade. Overnight he went from being a leader among his peers to an easy target for bullies. At 16 he got into Harvard on a scholarship, before he even got his driver’s license.
Ted lived in a residence at 8 Prescott St. before moving into the Eliot House dorms. At Harvard he was tricked into participating in a psychological study conducted by Henry Murray, who was rumored to be conducting studies as part of Project MKUltra- the CIA's attempt to create a mind control program through drugs, hypnosis, torture, sensory deprivation, and the sexual abuse of children. You can read about it on the CIA’s website. Ted was required to write essays about his hopes and beliefs, which were handed over to a man paid to bully and humiliate him. The sessions were filmed and the subjects were made to watch their own reactions to the abuse ad nauseam. This happened every week for 3 years.
In Ted’s mid-20s, his social isolation and sexual repression began to take its toll. The sounds of people having sex drove him crazy, and he believed his landlord was turning the other tenants against him. He dreamt of psychologists trying to control his mind and popping back up if he killed them. He went to see a psychiatrist planning to discuss a sex change operation. Ted didn’t identify as a woman, he just thought it was the only way he’d ever get to touch one. After a brief career in academia, he abruptly retired and retreated to a cabin in the woods. He planned to live with as little contact with society as possible, aside from occasionally biking to the library. When developers began to destroy the woods around his cabin, he decided that conflict was inevitable.
When Kaczynski’s mail bombs first started showing up, he was nicknamed the “Junkyard Bomber” because they were all made from readily available scrap. The first was a pipe bomb with wooden plugs inside a handmade wooden box. When opened, a trigger would strike the matches and ignite the bomb. He often included bits of bark, and two of his targets were named Wood. His final bomb killed a lobbyist for Big Timber. Ted worked alone- obviously- but he included little messages between imaginary co-conspirators to throw off investigators. He inscribed his bombs with the initials FC, for Freedom Club. His manifesto never refers to himself in the singular, always we or FC. It’s like he saw himself as a superhero in the Justice League. His nickname was changed to the Unabomber because he targeted universities and airplanes, including a bomb in the cargo hold of American Airlines Flight 444
Warren is the Unabomber. At 16, he’s quite gifted and one of the youngest students at Blackwell. He fights with Nathan Prescott, the typical rich bully riding his Dad’s coattails, and is friends with Eliot: 8 Prescott St. and Eliot House. Eliot’s dorm is almost as woody as Rachel's house, and he argues with Warren about Ed Wood. 44 Cedar St. isn’t just referring to Child 44 and Zombie- it’s a layered reference to Flight 444 and TK’s obsession with wood. Eliot sketched the rocket that appears on Daniel’s t-shirt. The psychic bomber built Sean’s rocket out of a used toilet roll, duct tape and matchsticks. Lyla the love bomber hates airplanes.
Max has to respond to Warren’s text before he blows up her phone. He teaches her to build a pipe bomb from odds and ends lying around the school so she can break into Principal Wells’ office. It’s revenge against the ivory tower father figure who let his cries for help fall upon deaf ears, like when Max tried to report Nathan’s gun. They’re blowing open a doorway into Wells’ mind- making him listen- the same way Chris blows up his ciggy butt snowfather with an exploding “cigar”. The Junkyard is everyone’s secret hideout, a natural location for the Junkyard Bomber and his Freedom Club. Chloe wishes the whole town would get nuked, and if you let the storm wipe it out nature will reclaim Arcadia Bay.
Munchkin Murder “Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans” is the lyric from Beautiful Boy that Jefferson likes to quote. It’s a song John Lennon wrote to comfort his son Sean after a nightmare. Lennon was a great artist but a terrible person in a lot of ways, including beating women and abandoning his first son, Julian. Mark David Chapman was a Beatles megafan with a troubled childhood. His father abused his mother, his mother constantly told him he was destined for greatness, and the children at school bullied him. He described his mom as “right out of Glass Menagerie”- the Tennessee Williams’ play on Rachel’s board o’ inspirations. Like Max in Where the Wild Things Are, he made a fantasy world inside his room, with a town of people that lived in the walls and worshipped King Mark. When he was happy they went about their daily jobs, and he gave them Beatles concerts put on by toy soldiers on a cardboard stage. When he was angry he smashed the town and murdered little people by the thousands.
After hitting puberty, his fantasy changed to having a secret dungeon in the basement of his school filled with women that he touched but didn’t have sex with. On the plane Max learns that none of Jefferson’s victims were physically or sexually assaulted. At 12 a little girl he’d decided was his one true love broke his heart, and he obsessed over her for the rest of his life. Years after Max left the Bay, Chloe is still writing her angry journal entries (but ready to take her back in a heartbeat). At 14 he started using drugs and ran away from home, living on the streets for a couple of weeks. After one hell of an acid trip he thought he’d become John Lennon. At 16 he discovered Holden, the Catcher in the Rye. His favorite movie was Wizard of Oz and he also identified with Dorothy. As an adult he became a very popular summer camp counselor. The kids called him Nemo, after Captain Nemo from Jules Verne’s 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea. Chris has a Nemo submarine in his bathtub. Mark also worked briefly as a security guard.
Mark became a born-again Christian in 1970, four years after John Lennon declared the Beatles were more popular than Jesus. The comment stuck with him for the next 10 years. His mental health ebbed and flowed, alternately attempting suicide and trying to reenact Verne’s Around the World in 80 Days. The “little people” returned to Chapman’s head and he developed a persecution complex. He tried to change his name to Holden Caulfield and became fixated on saving kids from falling off the cliff of phoniness.
The breaking point came when he found a book full of photographs of John Lennon showing off his wealth- the height of hypocrisy for the man who penned Imagine. Mark started stripping naked, playing Beatles records and begging Satan to lend him his power. In 1980 he flew to New York to stop John Lennon from leading any more children to their doom. He hired a prostitute and gave her a massage instead of having sex with her, mirroring Holden’s experience. He left a little shrine on the hotel dresser with mementos from his life, including a postcard of Dorothy wiping away a tear from the Cowardly Lion. Before shooting Lennon Mark bought another copy of Catcher in the Rye, believing that afterwards he would curl up into a ball and vanish into the pages of the book. In his statement to the police, he said he was split in two parts. The big part was Holden Caulfield, and the small part- his child self- was the Devil, urging him to kill.
Dancing in the Dark This is Donnie Darko, his little sister Samantha and her stuffed unicorn Ariel. They’re chilling in a motel room watching TV because their home was wrecked in a freak accident: a red and white spiraled jet engine landed directly on Donnie's room. The funny thing is, there was no plane flying overhead. Donnie narrowly avoided being crushed because a man in a giant rabbit suit named Frank told him to wake up and walk outside.
Frank starts paying Donnie nightly visits because he stopped taking his medications. The last time Donnie was unmedicated, he started setting buildings on fire. At night he becomes a sleepwalking zombie, taking his marching orders from Frank. The night that he escapes the jet engine Donnie sleepwalks out to a golf course where Frank tells him the world will end in 28 days, 6 hours, 42 minutes and 12 seconds. He wakes up with a black marker in his hand and 28:06:42:12 on his arm- the same way Chloe wakes up with words like “Nevermore” written on her palm. The same way the insomniac Lyla uses Sean as her human post-it note. She tells Sean he’ll see more of her skills if he falls asleep first. Frank uses Donnie like Dr. Caligari uses Cesare. Every time Frank tells him to “wake up”, Donnie activates and does his bidding. Before Chloe burns down The Tree with Rachel, her dream graffiti options are “wake up” or “wake up”. The episode is titled Awake.
Donnie’s hallucinations are seeded just like Frank Bowers'. The mysterious jet engine was spawned from the roar of planes flying overhead as he waits for the school bus. You can hear the planes as Lyla walks Sean home from the bus. As she points one out the power line bisects the screen, mirroring the moment when Sean considers calling her back. It also hints at a split personality. In the Title Screen there are two porch umbrellas outside Sean’s house, a grey one on top of a green one. In game there is only the green one. Samantha writes a little story about Ariel leading a prince into a magical world. Frank is a twisted Ariel, Donnie’s White Rabbit leading him into Wonderland. Donnie's girlfriend says his name sounds made up, like a superhero. To change into his costume he simply flips up his hoodie, no telephone booth required.
Donnie’s science teacher is a hip young professor called Kenneth Monnitoff. It’s never explained why a professor is teaching at a high school. He tells Donnie that, in theory, a metal spacecraft flying faster than the speed of light could pass through a wormhole to travel back in time. In fact, any metal craft will do- a DeLorean, an airplane or a one-eyed rocket. When Max rewinds her broken camera in Jefferson’s class, she declares herself a human time machine. Her sketchbook has a drawing of a rather phallic looking rocket, with an arrow pointing to the cap that says “me”. Next to it stands a little character that looks like a cross between Frank the rabbit and Max from Wild Things. Both the squirrel in the woods and the demon Mushroom that Daniel is playing with in the motel look like they’re morphing into Frank- who, by the way, is one-eyed underneath the suit. The giant Wild Thing is a baby chick powered up- a magical child wielding its awesome powers on Frank’s behalf.
There’s another teacher at Donnie’s school named Kitty Farmer. She’s the coach of Sparkle Motion, the junior dance squad that Samantha belongs to. Kitty worships Jim Cunningham, a local self-help author and motivational speaker. He runs a talent show that leads to Sparkle Motion being selected to fly out to LA to perform on Ed McMahon’s Star Search. It’s very similar to the setup where Jefferson selects an Everyday Hero to go to San Francisco. Jim Cunningham has a secret “kiddie porn dungeon” in his home, and the implication is that Kitty is grooming children for him: Kitty Farmer is a Kiddie Farmer. Donnie is watching a double feature of The Evil Dead and Martin Scorsese’s The Last Temptation of Christ when Frank opens a portal in the movie screen for him, showing him Jim Cunningham’s house and instructing him to burn it down. Donnie commits several attacks inspired by The Last Temptation- he sees himself as Jesus and Jim Cunningham (JC) as the Antichrist. Sadly, that’s a story for Part V.
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2018.03.23 05:33 dexterlab97 Hidden camera dorm room sex

It has been almost half a month since we paid goodbye to our 2 lovely characters Max and Chloe so I have decided to write a review on the game that has shed tears to many, the original Life is Strange.
We all know how the story went so I won’t be bothering doing a short synopsis of the game.
As a warning, I will try to write a non bias review despite being my all time favorite game. Another warning is this review is hella cringe. Final warning, don’t read this, you’re wasting your valuable time. Get out. Now. Don’t worry, only spoilers of Season 1, but you get it already with the title.
Episode 1, one of the most boring episode of all for a reason: it is unthrilling and full of dull moments for a game that has a lot of potentials. You start off with a vision of a tornado that’s about to destroy in a classroom. God knows how the fuck you end up day dreaming in your favorite class, which is photography but vision gotta vision else it ruins the whole plot. Not only that, the teacher seems to bat no eye on you for sleeping in front of him yet a small selfie quickly arise supsicious of the entire class.
Shortly after, you get to the bathroom and see a girl getting shot and you suddenly have the power of rewind without any explanation at all anywhere in game, and you rewind back and teleported back to your class room. Well fucking convenient isn’t it? You get tho hear your favorite teacher lecturing the same thing again and plus get a nice selfie for the god damn second time. Just a quick note before everyone freak out cause they should as later on somehow Max loses ability to teleport while rewinding time cause plot gotta plot somehow. I mean she can still that blue-haired girl without having to Daguerrotype and selfie again, she has done that multiple time and plus having teleport skill would be hella incovenient for future attempt at navigating Arcadia which I suppose I will discuss later. Did I just say hella? I think Chloe is a good bad influence on me. Yes expect me to use Life is Strange quotes and references in this review. The scene suppose to be somewhat dramatic but you rewind right immietely and kinda completely forget about it for a brief a moment. I mean you do see her almost falling down but that’s about it. Not so heart breaking as a real shoot out in the deleted Sacrifice Chloe ending. Typical American school shooting gotta shoot more.
Fast forward after you save her, goes back to your dorm and take the flash drive which is kinda interesting as you get to know other characters a bit more. Who the fuck keeps their room unlocked. Don’t you afraid of robbery or people digging through your shit or not? As far as I know there aren’t any security cameras set up by David yet. And we all know with Warren’s ability, Brooke’s drone system and Nathan’s money anyone can bypass any camera.
Well later on we get the reunion between Max and Chloe and leaving Warren to shit beaten up by drug abuse Nathan (who cares about Warren, he is not even a secondary character, that spot belongs to Kate and Rachel if she was alive, oops spoiler, wait… what). Then DONTNOD and the dev team makes one the most beautiful scene in this episode by showing off sun shining through as gal pal drive home talking shit. Praise the sun lord!
Later on we also get another iconic scene where Max dances quirkily to Pianofire. Sadly it was short as officer Dave storms in and clears the whole area. Chloe did rawk out hard and it was hella awesome. Also ALWAYS side Chloe! Whether you figured out to hide in the close or you did not rewind ALWAYS side with Chloe as later turns out only a specific combination of actions will get you suspended. So if you did it right you won’t end up in the retro zone. Sad face. :(
And the final scene which is also gorgeous with Max and Chloe sitting in the bench talking to each other under the beautiful sunlight. Ahh, light done right! The ending song is cool too I guess. You will forget about it anyway.
Episode 2 kicks off with zombie Max waking up to Something Good. Yup, the game is kinda good so far. Just a typical teenage adventuring through Arcadia with her best friend. Sooo lame. If I want a kinda open world game with collectibles, puzzles and beautiful scenes I can try Tomb Raider series, Uncharted, maybe even GTA. What a boring game, luckily the first episode is free. I would not buy it, not in a million year, not even if there is a 75% discount to $5.00 USD on Steam. Even for all 5 episodes. NO! I want refundz…
Anyway, to be honest we haven’t got any serious emotions from the game yet. After the showering routine and meetup with Kate who was having some personal problems we finally get a glimpse of what Life is Strange developers are capable: feels train. Though it’s not hard yet as we get cheered up instantly as we meet our BFF Chloe in the diner. God damn the music, come on. I was sooooo surprised hearing a familiar voice as I have watched “The Secret Life of Walter Mitty” prior which features shit load of Jose’s songs. If you like Jose Gonzales, check it out. It has beautiful scenes and OST. At Two Whales, after some wizardy cheap magic tricks made by Max they move to the junkyard, which is my ALL TIME FAVORITE scene in the entire game. Yes you can fight me. Or admit it. After searching for bottles just to get reunited by it later on you get confronted by drug lord Frank Bowers who threatened Chloe with a shiny knife just to get outsmarted by Max and her gunz. Bang bang. Uh oh somewhat forgot to reload. Mashing R apparently doesn’t help. Not sure if R stands for Reload so they put it there or because it’s close to WASD keys. Either way Max wouldn’t know how to load a revolver anyway, she has no skills. After that the 2 goes hand holding while balancing on the train track rail and lying down on a working track just to await their inevitable death that soon will come. Max then has her 3rd tornado vision in the most plot convenient time: right when train about to pass and Chloe getting stuck. Sure. Well to be fair you can save her without needed to rewind if you know how. And when they began to return back to school we get to hear the 2 most iconic dialogue lines in the game*.
In the short moment of classroom we get to see our first heart breaking moment: Kate’s attempted suicide. Max’s rewinding power is disabled once again due to plot. This Mr. Plot is so convenient for fuck’s sake! And why did they never tell me Kate is an important character else I would have snooped her place like Warren stalking Max more. Well she died in my first playthrough just fyi since I cared about Chloe way more already starting from the diner by not answering the phone call. So either you get super lucky ot you actually cared for her you might able to save her. But she died in my playthrough. Sad face. Nothing special of this episode’s ending, just a pan of different character’s perspective over a tune in sunset. A not so emotionally ending for a dead character. Again, it depends.
Episode 3 starts with Max waking up saying Kate. It might not have a devastating effect on you, but it sure had some impact on me knowing I let her die just last afternoon. Or was it the same day? Did Max get emotionally stressed and went for a nap? Sure let’s forget about Kate and sleep. Good idea! Anyway we then get a short message from Chloe to meet her in front of Black-hella school. And we get yet another iconic lines from badass Chloe in response to Max**! They begin snooping on Wells while contacting snoop expert Warren for help. Finding out about Rachel in the dark room sent shivers down my spine as the whole scene was dark in itself as it was night time. Thankfully it didn’t last long as they go to cowabunga themselves in the pool and have a conversation. What a wasted pool, they could have used the entire pool yet they ony stayed in one place like it’s a bath tub. I am mad. After was a very thrilling scene of being hunted down by officer Dickhead in his flashlight. God it’s like everyone in this game have an urge to stalk on other people. Including that fucking Tornado messing with everyone’s life at the most convenient time ever.
And morning. Innocent morning. What a sweet background music plus the selfie! AND THE KISS OH MY FUCKING GOD MAX IS HELLA GAYYYYY. If that blind on Chloe’s room doesn’t like red white stripe of bacon somehow then I don’t know if I’m crazy or not. Anyway, the majority went with gay option as if they were more attentive enough they would know based on profile that Warren is a minor and stalked Max in the morning in Episode 2. And Max’s most iconic line in the entire franchise***. The 2 moves below for egg and bacon, yes that just got canon. Mainly cause I forgot the 2nd option, I think pancakes? Then the gang have foursome quarrel and everyone eventually side with Chloe for obvious reasons.
Next Max was fucking insane because Frank was eating those beans! Jokes aside, well actually no, jokes won’t be aside, this whole game is a joke. The 2 find out that Rachel had been secretly dating Frank and Chloe was pissed. Oh sweet child, how can someone let her almost in tears, granted she was always suffer depression before but now you get to see it show outside. If that didn’t bulge your emotions I think you are a cold-hearted beast.
Max finally was able to rewind back to the time where David was about to get into a car crash thanks to a photo that Joyce gave. Max just suddenly reached level 311 of Time Travelling power, damn she has been collecting those XP through romantic sex with Chloe really good. I don’t think it was really plot convenient to time travel through photo right now as we end up fucking up shit anyway. Anyway at the end of Episode 3 we get the sickest plot twist in the entire game, Chloe in a wheelchair. GASP. Kids will be skeleton while Chloe’s skeleton is failing is no coincidence I tell you.
Episode 4 out of 5, we’re almost there. Now we get to see what DONTNOD is capable of: feeeeeeeeeeeeeels. The whole Alternate Universe scene with Chloe was super sad. Granted Max kept in touch with her somehow but seeing her unable to have actual fun pirating around Arcadia Bay is sad. Very much sad. Her arms, legs doesn’t move apart from her head which uses to control her wheelchair (it’s possible). Yes, Chloe is the next Charles Xavier. Telekinesis motherfucker. Blade Runner and its sequel 2049 is actually really good so I suggest you watch it. It won’t be as emotional as Life is Strange though. After getting Chloe some morphine she asks you to kill her, ending her miserable life. HOW CAN YOU DO THAT. Either options is super sad with the kill option is even more sad, and saying IDK just end up in the 2 original choices again.
Thank God for the morning grope, it was so cute seeing Max hugging Chloe again for how many time? Huggies count: 2 times in the train track (one after confronting Frank and one after saving her from the oncoming train).This hug has a much stronger effect after what just happened.
They visit Kate’s hospital depending on whether she was alive or not. Then gathering info from Nathan in his dorm (who leaves their phone at home) and seeing Warren beath the shit out of Nathan, way to go ape kid! They head to the beach where Frank is and politely asks him for the list of client’s which he happily gave it to them. That is exactly how it happened to the majority of people. Minus the happy part.
Then the 2 very promising detectives, well mainly Max begin to brainstorm and match the clues with locations. They then figure out about the barn and drives there.
They figured out with the help of Chloe the human minion a hidden basement known as the dark room because everyone so far has referred it as a bright white light like the hospital but because located below the ground and being canonized by Rachel/Nathan it being called that way. They find out the truth about Rachel’s unfortunate fate and drives to the junkyard for inspection. Not even at the end of the game and we already felt like everything just crashed and burned into the ground. There isn’t something in my eye, I am actually crying.
Drunk meta Warren after drinking a cup of beer (shows how young he is and inability to handle alcoholic drinks) greets them outside the party. They wanted to find Nathan but couldn’t because YOU NEED TO CHECK YOUR DAMN PHONE LADY, HE LEFT YOU A VOICEMAIL. THE PHONE! Then Chloe dies and it reveals Mark is the perpetrator. Well it sure as hell as a good plot twist but knowing how amazeball Maxine.. Max is I didn’t get surprised too much.
Episode 5, the final epilouge of the game begins with the obvious: Max in the dark room and useless Vic tied up next to her. Also for information, eating poop won’t kill you immidietely so unless you take a large portion of it you may have a better chance of dying.
I get confused with time as how Max keeps rewinding back and forth. But what I can remember is Max rewinding to save herself out and eventually calls David and succeeded in doing so and confront Warren with the photo to save Chloe.
After planning out what Chloe has to do, they meet up in front of the storm near the lighthouse. They had a very intense talk before Max falling into the nightmare which I think is boring and useless. I spent so much time in it that I forgot about that the last point Max was with Chloe in front of the tornado. FAST FORWARD past the nightmare we end up with Chloe wanting to kill herself again for the greater good but the true choice will always be BAE. Yes now go cry in the corner.
To conclude, thanks for reading my review. It sucks I guess.
*-Chloe, my powers might not last -That's OK. We will. Forever.
** -I'm so glad you're my partner in crime - As long as you're my partner in time
*** - Ready for the mosh pit shaka brah
-will update with formatting-
submitted by dexterlab97 to lifeisstrange [link] [comments]


2018.02.20 02:01 mari135 Hidden camera dorm room sex

Right then.....here goes nothing.
:)
TRIGGER WARNING:
[!!!---The following post contains descriptions of emotional, physical, and verbal abuse, as well as emotional incest, and self-harming behavior. After a few people wrote that the experiences described below triggered them, I got concerned because that's the last thing I want for anyone healing and recovering out there.---!!!]
INTRODUCTION
After lurking here on the forum for over a year now, I finally signed up for my very first Reddit account. I thank each and everyone of you, who has shared their experiences here. There were many days and nights where coming here reading your stories and kind replies left me sobbing with relief, just because maybe I am not alone........maybe........I am not bad, and maybe it was not my fault.........
INTENTION
The reason why I am writing all of this down is because I want to:
1.) ..... heal.
2.) ......hold myself accountable for self-harming behaviors I still use at times and stop these.
3.) ......validate my perception and experiences once and for all, removing all remaining doubts.
4.) ......make sure my own narcissistic tendencies are being replaced with compassionate behavior.
BACKGROUND
To dive right in, I am a 33 year old married female, who works as a college level lecturer (foreign languages) and suspects her mother is a narcissist, and her stepfather (my mother's 3rd husband) an enabling father. I am originally from Western Europe, but moved to the USA for my husband years ago. I have been very low contact with both "parents" since February 2012. The only contact between us right now is via email and only on birthdays and Christmas. I have a brother who is 8 years older, and he is the currently the golden child. We switched roles somewhere around the time he turned 30 and got a prestigious job. At the moment, I am the scapegoat/lost child/black sheep. My enabling stepfather has two children. One of them, my stepbrother (scapegoat/black sheep) has been no contact with his father and my mother for over 15 years. Him and I are quite close and have validated each other's experiences. I am lucky to have him.
ABUSE
My therapist believes there has been severe neglect, emotional abuse, emotional incest, as well as physical abuse in my childhood all the way up until early adulthood. Most days.....I do believe him and my own perception.....however, at the end of the day I am a human being and social mammal.............programmed to crave and need connection with my family of origin.........and I am grieving the fact I never had a mother, and will most likely never have one. Meaning, I doubt myself at times because it is "easier" to believe I did something bad to deserve this, that explains all of this shit, than to feel and let in that my own mother may have never really loved and wanted me. Ouch. Yeah......
-------> In fact, I am STILL learning what her behavior has done, and how I can make the best of my life now. Some days are good, others suicidal thoughts pop up, head and belly filled with toxic shame, and like I am an utter failure that needs to make herself go away...............and I wish......... I could just LET GO......... of the pain....... the anger........ the sadness......... the grief......... more anger.........more sadness.....the hopelessness........... the wishing maybe she can change.......the 'maybe she loves me and it's just another difficult mom-daughter relationship'............. the emptiness that bubbles up whenever I see Hallmark Mother's Day cards............. or how friends gather with their families around holidays................... I wish I could just STOP feeling anything about it at all................ It often feels like being on the outside, looking in on the world and others............. I also wonder if others can see the brokenness of me somehow........... Some days I even worry my husband only puts up with me because he feels responsible for me, and is backed into a corner. These are false beliefs, and I am working on that in therapy.
SELF-HARM
There is a history of a variety of self-harming behavior I used in the past to numb the pain, to punish myself, or to somehow have control over life in a twisted way. Behaviors I have used included:
1.) ----> Slapping myself. With a flat palm on the cheek. Usually when I felt like I "messed up something", or "had been a lazy." My mother used to often call me "lazy sow" in a rage. Other situations that trigger me include "feeling like I don't clean my home well enough" or "lacking real success in life." The last time I did this was just a few weeks ago, and my goal is to stop all self-abuse now. For good.
2.) ----> Using a brush to hit my head. Same triggers usually. Feeling ashamed of myself or lazy or like a failure resulted in hitting the brush so hard until my scalp bled at times. I also used my fists to punch myself in the stomach, but luckily that stopped years ago and haven't used a brush or fists in a long time.
3.) ----> Onset Bulimia and Anorexia. Starting in my senior year of high school and escalating in college, I had a few years where I'd binge-eat and then make myself throw it up. Combined with phases where I'd withhold food to punish myself for "getting fat."
4.)----> Cognitive Self-Punitive Behaviors. I am incredibly hard on myself, and have not considered having children yet as I am worried about how much of me is like my mother. I do not want to pass this generational "gift" on. My maternal grandmother was a cold and shitty person, and I believe my grandpa was an enabling father as well. I tend to have ridiculously high expectations of myself. I am often cruel and impatient, self-criticizing myself with thoughts.
5.) ----> Substance abuse (Alcohol). About a year ago I decided to get 100% sober from alcohol. After one relapse 140 days into my first attempt, I started over and am now over 300 days sober. The plan is to stay that way forever. Since I have used alcohol starting around age 17/18 to numb it all out, learning how to feel and what to do with these feelings has been a ride......... to say the least.....and it has been so so worth it. I recommend sobriety (with the right support alongside you) to anyone.
RECOVERY TOOLS
----------->
Here are the tools I have used so far to help me recover:
1.) Bibliotherapy
Lots of reading, including classics such as "Will I ever be good enough?" by McBride and "Children of the self-absorbed", "Mothers who can't love" etc.
2.) Therapy.
It will soon be four years of bi-weekly therapy with a licensed clinical counselor, who has been a lifeline...to say the least.
3.) Talking to people I trust.
This was and still is a trial/error experience. Sometimes I chose the wrong people to confide in. Other times, opening up was a healing experience, and the compassion of others has been transforming.
4.) The internet. Below are some of the resources that helped, and still help me the most/

There is so much support out there, and I am lucky. ----> Truly lucky.
COMMENT
Therapy is not something everyone has access to, and I am aware this is a luxury service ......never take that for granted. It has saved my life. My friends, as mentioned, are supportive as can be. The only problem is.........I feel most people have "normal-enough" mothers....... and while they are compassionate, I am often left wondering: "If it was all in my head. If I was just born too sensitive. If I am being ungrateful. If I was that difficult of a child, and my mother did her best. The poor thing. IF ONLY....... I had been more decisive, more hard-working, more normal, and found a career path right after high school to prevent mom from feeling so angry at me......and so on....and so forth.
----> Below are a few "highlights" of what I believe to be maternal narcissism. Any feedback is greatly appreciated, and I apologize for the extremely long post in advance. I will go back and edit the post so that each experience is clearly labeled, in case someone does not wish to read about a specific kind of abuse.
EXPERIENCES
1.) Emotional Neglect / Lack of Mirroring
I have no memories of my mother ever looking at me with true love and compassion. In fact, her eyes sometimes get that "crazy look" I only ever saw in one other person in my entire life, namely my abusive ex boyfriend. There are no nice photos of us two, with the typical "mother gazing lovingly at baby or toddler" or whatnot. In fact, we have barely any nice photos of me from early childhood. The ONLY portrait in which I smile a bit, and that was clearly supposed to be a happy memory, is from one single photo shoot my kindergarten organized when I was 3 years old.
2.) Verbal / Emotional Abuse
Raging. Lots of it. I remember it was often over something other moms just did, and shockingly other moms seemed to LIKE and WANT to do them. Like...... picking up her 15 year old teenager from the airport after a school trip........helping their teenagers visit colleges to plan a careecollege path out.......picking/dropping off their kids every now and then. I always took care of it by myself, using the bus or walking or biking.
3.) Physical Abuse
  • One time I came home a little late from playing with my neighbors when I was 13 years old, the next door neighbors where I'd basically be most days, all day long, as nobody was providing supervision for me. My mother raged and slapped me so hard on the cheek that a corner of my front tooth broke off. She then continued to blame me for being late, and claimed the "dentist hadn't attached the corner very well." Yes, that corner had fallen off before in a sports swimming accident, but.....in my opinion the dentist had attached a very very strong artificial corner, so my mother must have used significant enough force to break the fake tooth material. My dentist re-attached the corner after my mother had slapped it out of my mouth, and it hasn't even chipped or weakened at all since then, and that was 20 years ago.....go figure.
-- She would force me into a closed shower as a toddler and punish me with cold water. Fully dressed. "Because I had thrown a tantrum over wanting to eat cereal for dinner and she could not stop me from throwing a tantrum and was worried I'd hurt myself by slamming my head onto the floor."
--- Spanking. At times she pulled me off of the toilet and slapped me on my naked butt. I had actually hidden on the toilet one time, hoping that would help me escape the spanking. But it was a mistake in hindsight as it turns out being hit hurts less with pants on. Lesson learned. Thanks, mom.
4.) Emotional Incest
  • She would brag about her sexual talents and attractiveness a lot. This could be something "rather harmless" like when we went shopping together all my life I remember she'd brag how: "men my age looked at me!!!! And men mari135's age looked at her, too." That made me sad........ I wanted mom-daughter shopping trips to be about mom and me, and NOT about which strange men looked at us.
-- Other times she would share pornographical details such as: "Your stepfather makes me come first with his hands and fingers, and then he makes me come again when we have regular sex. And my first husband always said I was sooo great in bed. He even tried to sleep with me one last time after we got divorced, and handed the keys for the house over, but I said no."
*** I found that information VERY disturbing as I was in my early teens/teens. My therapist later explained this is called "emotional incest". ***
--- My mother would also ask me on vacation (I was 14 years old) to "leave the hotel room to go do something because they needed privacy, meaning have sex." So on our "lovely" family vacation, where we shared one hotel room, I had to pack up a book and sit alone by the indoor swimming pool in the middle of the Canadian Rockies, waiting for stepdad and mom to be done having sex. Back then we did not have cellphones yet like we do today, so I remember sitting all alone at the cold and bleak indoor pool, wondering if mom and dad are done having sex yet, so I can get back into my hotel room.
-------> When I did get back, both pretended nothing had happened. My mother was grinning disgustingly, and had a red glow on her face. She pretended like nothing happened. I am pretty sure when I am 51 years old I will be able to moderate my sexual desires, so that I won't have to send a teenager all alone to sit and wait in the hotel lobby. Or....have the decency to get my own room. Heck, I would have had the decency to NOT ask my child to leave the room at any age, regardless of my sexual needs. Children come before sexual needs. Period. Anyone can wait to have sex to protect a child's integrity, if they want to.
4.) EMOTIONAL ABUSE / DEHUMANIZATION
  • Shit really hit the fan in 2011/2012. I was forced to briefly move in with them for a few weeks as I needed to job hunt in between getting my master's degree....... and.......well.......actually finding a job. I had graduated from a university abroad with a full scholarship. My parents never had to pay a single cent for tuition. None of that was acknowledged, and they didn't seem happy at all to see me be back. They hadn't seen me for two years. My parents are very wealthy, own property in several European capitals, but the entire two years did not offer to either fly me home for a Christmas visit, I also never received a Christmas or birthday card, let alone gifts. My mother did sarcastically comment in front of her friends how: "mari135 worked a LITTLE bit over there." ..........And "over there" being a very reputable state university in the USA. It was not a full-time teaching job, but I was a graduate student, and not allowed to work full-time on my visa.
-- But that wasn't even the worst of it. During my time with them (12 weeks or so) they forbid me to unpack my suitcases. My mother informed me I would not be given a guest room. I had to sleep on the fold-up futon couch in the open living room, right by the kitchen. My suitcases had to remain right next to the main entrance by the door. She even placed a carpet over them because: "she was worried what the neighbors thought, and it looked so ugly in the hallway with these suitcases."
--- I was not allowed (this is a lifelong pattern) to use the washing machine. The showebathroom was patrolled by my mother every.single.time I used it because: "I did not know how to clean up stains from the water off of the appliances well enough." One time I wanted to make "mommy happy" ---> I was 27 when I stayed with them back then ----> and I cleaned the bathroom like there was no tomorrow. Hours. On my knees. Scrubbing.
---- My mother walks in, looks around, scoffs, points at the surface of a plastic box on a shelf and says: "Most people don't see fingerprints like those right there. You did not see them either, but I do." That was that. No "Thank you". No "Good job". That was also a lifelong pattern. But it took me until I was 27 to realize how bad this must have been for a young child growing up. During that time she also complained and claimed often that: "You did not know how to open up the fridge the right way, and left disgusting fingerprints all over the surface of my designer kitchen." I remember being worried about leaving fingerprints, walking about her house on eggshells.
----- One day I got REALLY sick with tonsilitis, and asked her if I could use the car to get meds from the pharmacy. Her response was cold and she just said: "It's winter and the car would need to warm up for 20 minutes. And you're not allowed to drive the car by yourself so I'd have to come with." Again, I was 27 years old at that point. Had successfully worked and studied abroad. My host family in the USA who did not even know me well gave me their car all the time. Parents of friends let me drive their cars all the time. In my entire life I have never had an accident, speeding or parking ticket. I know I am a good-enough driver.
-------Since I needed the meds, I grabbed my bike in -12 Celsius winter weather and rode it to the pharmacy. My mother must have gotten worried about what the neighbors might think. Two days later I needed more meds as my tonsilitis was getting worse. This time, my mother left the house without saying a word. She came back an hour later, walked into the house, with a martyr / self-righteous look on her face, grinning and throwing the meds onto my bed/couch saying: "Happy now?!"
---------A few days before that she had raged over nothing, stormed away and yelled at me: "Nothing is ever good enough for little madame." I was in the middle of the worst fever infection I can remember. That night, I wanted to commit suicide for the first time. Things finally got so bad (my mother would frequently position herself in the middle of the living room, at center of the house, and cry and complain how: "she had the right to not always have to be strong, too." This is also a lifelong behavior she had. Growing up my brother would be assigned the role (he still has that role and is 41 now) to be a semi-husband for her. He'd be allowed to soothe her, softly pat her back when she was crying. I was sent to my room. My brother would often say: "I know how to handle this. You go to your room."
THE FINAL ESCAPE
-------> But back to 2011/2012.......While I stayed with my parents I ended up worrying my suicidal ideation was turning into me actually wanting to carry out a plan, and asked my aunt if I could come visit them for a few days to get a break from my parents. My aunt agreed right away. She has often had periods in her life where she did not talk to my mother, her sister. My aunt understands and believes me. When I arrived at her house, I felt like I had PTSD. I was too scared to use their kitchen, and expected my aunt and uncle to dislike me soon as well. My mother dumped the rest of my belongings I hadn't been able to take with me on the train to my aunt's city in big grey garbage bags a few weeks later. Without saying a word. She just dumped them in front of my aunt's garage. Did not even ask my aunt or uncle if that day was a good day to dump my things on their property. It was raining, and my mother didn't even know if my aunt/uncle were home or gone for days.
During that time, my stepfather once said to my mother he "was scared of her, and did not dare to criticize or question her ever, as it always came back tenfold later on." I found that to be quite the impressive and accurate description of her narcissism, but since he is the enabler, he will never understand that himself.
Some of those things had been in an IKEA carry-bag I had used, but I guess that was "too good" for her daughter. She removed it all and there they were....all of my things in garbage bags. Thanks, mom. She then acted like NOTHING happened. My stepfather sent me this shit email saying: "I hope staying with us wasn't too stressful." They have always called me "too sensitive" so that put the blame yet again on me finding too many things too often too stressful.
My mother did NOT care how/where I lived after I walked out of their house. She was probably just happy to be able to have sex all day wherever she wanted and to have gotten rid of her child yet again. My therapist once translated that into the movement you make with your two palms "Job well done." I found that helpful as that was EXACTLY how it felt like. She rid herself of me, and that was what she wants.
I had to move through two temporary apartments to complete an internship first, and finally move to the city where I got a full-time job. From the day of my graduation (December 12th to scoring that good full-time job it took me only 4 months. Given the job market at the time it was remarkable, yet my parents never even acknowledged how hard I worked to get my career going. She just asked things like: "How is your job? Is it full-time? I hope your students aren't as bad as those I just read about in a book the other day. That sounds like such an awful job, teaching."
When my replies started getting flat and non-deep (I used to be an open book for her, and anyone, actually, gladly sharing each and every feeling, worry, thought) she started to complain. Then, one day, she just declared: "This is too hard for me. I will stop writing you now since you never share anything about yourself anymore." What MOTHER willingly declares she no longer wants to be in contact with her only daughter? Sure, if I had had a history of stealing money from them, taking drugs in their home, assaulting them and whatnot.....I would understand why a parent stops enabling their child so the child gets help. But....I was a good-enough child and young adult by all means.
The little girl in me panicked when my mother wrote that, and I replied that I did not want us to have no contact. Emails continued for a bit after that, but my mother became more and more weird, and outwardly aggressive in them. Finally, she attacked me one more time directly, but I had started therapy by then and felt more confident...... and I replied that: "We can rebuild a new relationship based on trust, but I will no longer respond to passive aggressive emails from you, mother."
She pouted, ignored my email for a few days (she checks her emails daily, and most of the time reads them all aloud to my stepfather, who then writes replies together with her) and wrote back that: "She could not promise that she would not relapse." Meaning, relapse = being passive-aggressive. Since that day, 2 years ago, it's been only "Dear friends and family" kind of mass emails from them. She suddenly did start to send me a card for my birthday, which she has NEVER done all those years I was in undergrad etc. That just started suddenly 4 years ago out of nowhere. My therapist said she does that because it helps the narc maintain the illusion of "a good parent". These cards usually disturb me, and I throw them out the same day as it triggers me.
MORE EXAMPLES
-----> There is more. I bet like for ALL of you there is so much more......and I am sorry you had to experience that. You have my sincere compassion.
1.) Other highlights worth mentioning include that when I lived abroad and dated an abusive man, I ended up being attacked my him. It was a classical domestic violence situation, and I had to go to court to state my case and get a protection order. The entire time my mother did not call me. Not even once. She just sent an email saying "This was all too hard for her, and I should contact that psychology professor in the USA I once had." Thanks....mother. I also understand now why I used to be so attracted to abusive, controlling, narc men. It is called "repetition compulsion" and it felt....familiar. I was used to that family dynamic. It felt comfortable even when it was dangerous. I was 23 years old at that time of my DV experience, and far away from my home country. One phone call from my own mother would have been nice. Oh....and you'd think when I came back home after the domestic violence ordeal my own mother would have been happy to have her only daughter safe and sound in her arms?
Negative. Nopety nope nope. My mother complained that the airport I flew into (40 hours trip back home from Australia) was too far from home. (3 hours driving). Fair enough. I took a train to a town 30 minutes from our house after flying/doing layovers for 40 hours. My mother still complained that "the parking there is so bad and we will have a hard time finding a parking spot." My parents are avid travelers and have been, and still are, traveling the world. Certainly finding parking in a city close to where we lived for 30 years would not be too challenging.
When she saw me walking through the train station all she said was: "I didn't know you had a red coat." I was then told my mother had decided to sleep in my old bedroom, and I was given a mattress on the floor in an empty former workroom........ that didn't even have lights on the ceiling. She did place 3 tiny flowers in a little vase on the sink in that room. Not sure if I was supposed to be all grateful about that, but she made it a point to point out that she did that for me. How nice of you, dear mommy. Then, she continued making it all about her. She would tell me about how hard her marriage with my biological father was, and I remember I ended up comforting HER as she started crying when she talked about that. Not sure why my domestic violence experience was the clue for her to make it yet again about her. It felt wrong. She also said weird things like: "Sent the bill for those shoes to THAT guy." And then she smirked. I asked her what she meant, and she made it clear she wanted me to contact my abusive ex I had just gotten a restraining order against, and make him pay for my new shoes. (He had cut up all of my shoes and clothes with scissors when I wanted to leave him, a traumatic experience, to say the least) Sure mom, let me text him real quick, I bet he has his credit card ready to go! Madness.
2.) When I was 11 or 12 years old, she would make me take a public bus for over an hour in the middle of winter to get my sick guinea pigs to the vet. I had to go in for 3 consecutive appointments as they had some sort of lice that required several regular injections. The 3rd time, for some reason, she was able to drive me. And....when we got into the hallway after paying the fee she raged at me again claiming: "He charged us more because I came with you. Next time you go alone again."
3.) Financial abuse. She gifted my brother (GC) all of her savings a few years ago. I do not believe I will ever see a single cent of that money, and am now making my peace with the fact that I will never ever receive even the tiniest bit of financial help from them.
4.) My enabling stepfather is its own bag of shit. He would often leave his flat palm on my butt when we hugged or posed for photos, especially as I got older. It made me feel extremely uncomfortable. My therapist said this was NOT ok and that normal fathers do not do that. I still question it sometimes and worry that I am being too critical of my stepfather. My stepfather would also always pull me REALLY tight when we did any sort of ballroom dancing. It disgusted me.
5.) When my brother was 3 years old he broke his leg playing outside. He had to be in the hospital, both legs in a cast and tied to a pole to keep them in a certain angle, which left him stuck in bed 24/7. My mother decided this was a good time to go on vacation and she flew by airplane to a resort by the beach for a few days. We had no family in town at that time, I was not born yet. My aunt and neighbors said they felt so sorry for my brother and went to visit him out of pity. My aunt driving 4 hours to get to the hospital. Who leaves a toddler with a broken leg in a hospital and flies to another country to go relax on the beach? I wonder if that is almost sociopathic actually.
6.) She often lied and gaslighted. Like she would go through my clothes and throw away something she thought was "too old, too slutty" or whatnot and without telling me it was gone. I would then frantically look for it. She would try and lie to me long enough for the garbage truck to get there. One time, I went down to the street on a hunch and gut feeling....and there it was. My favorite t-shirt I had gotten as a gift from a woman who helped me escape my abusive ex boyfriend. In the trash bin. By the road. My mother had literally walked it all the way down from our house to that trash bin while I was at the dentist. Then lied to me. That...reminded me of what my abusive ex had done. He too....had placed my clothes (all cut up) in a garbage bin by the road. I had to dig through all of that garbage to get them back out. When I told my therapist about that, it suddenly clicked and I made the connection....my mother doing the same as my abuser, just a few weeks apart from each other.
------> Another time .......she hid something else that belonged to me, and told me: "to just sit down and eat and she misplaces things all the time. It would surely show up again." I was looking for that thing frantically, thinking I had lost my mind....it was there on the table, the second I came back from the using the restroom it was gone.......but I had another hunch, and pretended to go to the bathroom upstairs a few minutes later, but instead quietly sneaking into her bedroom.....and there is was! The thing I was looking for was HIDDEN inside her travel bag on her bed, underneath a pile of her clothes. Thanks, mommy. We never talked about it. I took that thing back, and she never asked. I needed them to provide me with a roof over my head until I could be financially independent and leave.
7.) Grandiose self-esteem. She has this grandiose idea of her own importance. When my brother had a baby, my niece, she bragged to EVERYONE how she, my mother the physical therapist, had "secretly treated her granddaughter and now her granddaughter was standing up wayyyy better." There is a whole story to that where my sister-in-law caught my mother giving my granddaughter physical therapy treatment, and when asked what my mother was doing, my mother lied. My sister-in-law had never given consent that her toddler was to be treated by my mother.
8.) Triangulation. When, for the first and last time ever, my mother Skyped with my then boyfriend and now husband, the first thing she told him was that: "Your girlfriend is an alcoholic and she drinks a bottle a day!" Then she continued dancing manically with my stepfather in front of the camera, as they had just gotten home from one of their nights out. Pretending to be the cool relaxed dancing queen. My now husband said he found that comment VERY sickening. While I did drink too much in college and for many years after that, I was never an alcoholic and especially not during that time. It's not the nicest thing to say about your own daughter the very first time you meet her new boyfriend. During that time she would try to sabotage my relationship with him, telling me "I don't like his beard. His gifts are cheap. You should marry an engineer back home instead."
-----> She triangulated and I once caught her (overhearing through a door) crying to my golden child brother how I "was not applying to many jobs at all." (lie, that's all I did all day long) My parents both claimed that physical therapy was a profession that was going to disappear soon. I was told at age 16 that "Since you're always sick, you better just become a teacher. They get so much vacation." My mother also liked to compare us kids. One time, she asked my brother and me to "compare who cost more." (My brother is 8 years older). And she would always say things like "Your brother, the get-things-done guy." Or "Your brother is very good at getting practical things done. You...well you are good for emotional things."
This went as far as getting my stepfather on board to manipulate my career choice. I did NOT want to be a teacher. But since nobody cared to visit colleges with me or do anything to help me choose a career, I studied education. I believed them. I was sick quite often growing up. Asthma, a skin rash. Colds. She later sold her practice to one of her employees. It STILL is a very successful practice, and I am not sure I am finished grieving the loss of "what could have been" there yet. I do my best at teaching, but am not naturally cut out for it. It's a hard job. Funnily enough, I have had only two sick days in all my years teaching and since going low contact with my parents, I have been the healthiest version of myself ever. Asthma, gone. Skin rash, gone. Frequent colds, gone.
9.) Blameshifting. She blamed me for outrageous things as a child claiming for example: "You did not want to learn Dutch" which is her mother tongue. Now...I am a teacher. I can assure you that IF a mother spends a little bit of time and WANTS to teach her child her own mother tongue...she will. Kids are like sponges. They love learning. I cannot believe she blamed a baby/toddlesmall child for her disinterest in passing on her own language to me.
10.) Medical Neglect. One time when I was 8 years old, I had a VERY bad and seriously dangerous asthma attack. We had been visiting my aunt who lived 4 hours away. She has cats and we did not know my blanket was covered in hair, so at 1am I was barely able to breathe. It felt like breathing through a straw. My mother...raged...and raged....and raged....she packed me into to backseat.....and drove me all those 4 hours back to our house. No ER visit. Nothing. I remember thinking the entire drive: "I might die. I can't breathe." That was the only incident where my enabling stepfather ALMOST stood up for me. Almost. I remember feeling so ashamed for years for getting sick, and making mommy angry.
11.) Neglect of basic parenting obligations. In school I'd miss lots of things and she would brag and joke about "not knowing in which grade her daughter was" in front of me to her patients. I missed a 3rd grade reading competition because my own mother didn't know what I was up to at school. I missed a 5th grade trip because she didn't know and I was 11 and had forgotten to set an alarm clock. I lied when my teacher called, saying I was ill because I was too ashamed for not being able to manage my own commitments well enough. 11. Years. old. Jesus.
12.) Delusions. She thinks the husbands of her friends fancy her and are into her. She also thinks my aunt secretly wishes she had a husband like my stepfather. When I told my aunt, she almost vomited as she cannot stand my stepfather.
13.) My stepfather once looked me in the eye when I was 23 years old and said: "You would have NEVER filled your mothers shoes." Meaning, I would have never been good enough to take over her physical therapy practice. It was my dream to do that, but they manipulated me into not doing that.
14.) She is overly concerned with what others think about her, mostly strangers and neighbors. One time while I was staying with my parents and applying for jobs, they left for some gala New Year's Eve event at a castle in our capital, and I stayed back because I had the work ethics of "applying for a job is my full-time job, so no going out until I have a job. Period." Around midnight I wondered if the lonely older lady next door was home, too. To my surprise, she was! So I grabbed a bottle of champagne, and walked over. Her and I had a lovely New Year's Eve. She told me in tears how her own daughter, and only child, had died in a car accident and so ever since she preferred to just be home alone on holidays.
-----> When my parents came back from the extravagant party a few days later, and I told them about having been with the neighbor, my mother freaked out and got this aggressive smirk and hissed: "Ohh, so I bet you told her allllll about how bad we are to you. Bad parents, right?!!" ..............How on earth she thought of THAT paranoid stuff instead of maybe ....I don't know.....being proud of having a compassionate adult daughter who cares about lonely elderly neighbors.............Another time she hissed at me: "I'd kick you out but what would the neighbors think?"
Although, she DID eventually end up writing me a letter, walking away crying when I wanted to discuss a rational solution, and actually kicked me out with a deadline even. "You need to leave by March 1st." Had it not been for my aunt, i'd have been literally homeless at age 26/27. My own mother could not even wait 3-4 months until I had my full-time job, and that after she hadn't seen me in two years.
15.) When I graduated from high school, just like she had done with my brother, my mother informed me "I no longer needed a key to HER house since I had no more business to be done there." I had just moved into my dorm room, and had kept the house key as I had boxes full of stuff left in our attic. Dorm rooms = very small. She expected me to 100% live in my dorm room, which had the kitchen next to my bed, as in literally RIGHT next to it. "Fair enough.....suck it up, you're a student. Be humble." I thought back then. That's also when my self-harming escalated and my alcohol consume as well. The next day I was babysitting the children of one of my mother's employees for whom I had been babysitting for 4 years. My mother showed up unannounced at the door of that family's house, and raged at me in front of their 5 year old, accusing me of lying to her about not having the key with me. I did NOT have the key with me, and had left it in my dorm room to go work that night as a babysitter, my mind occupied with college about to begin, moving, work etc. I had planned to drop it off at her house, aka my childhood home for 18 years, the next day.
After she left, the 5-year old boy looked up at me and asked: "Who was that?" And I replied: "Oh, you know my mother. That was my mother." He shook his head and replied: "Didn't look like her." And went off to go play in his room. What struck me about that was his innate child-wisdom. My mother gets that crazy look in her eyes and on her face when she rages. She really did NOT look like her at all that night. It was her rage-face. That little boy could put into words what I could not even allow myself to feel until age 29 in therapy.
For the record, even my mother's cleaning lady had a key to our house. Whenever my parents were gone on one of their world trips for weeks on end, and I needed to access my belongings that did not fit into my dorm room, I had to call her up and make sure she could open and close the door for me. It was humiliating. I cried a lot during those visits. The house we grew up in was the place I spent so much time at. I was often from age 14/15 onward left alone for weekends when my parents went away to travel.
RECENT PAST to PRESENT DAY
Last time I saw them, she started a huge fight with my stepfather. I was blamed for it. "Me being back there" had put that much pressure on them, according to them. He had been stonewalling/silent treating her for days. That was his MO all my life, by the way. She would often cry to me about wanting a 3rd divorce. So I kinda had a hard time "bonding with stepdaddy" over all that, as you can imagine. Then I was blamed for having a bad relationship with him. He also told me to my face that "meeting your mother put me back ten years in life since you were so young, and my own children already older." Thanks...dad..... = I am a burden that ruined his life. Instead of being grateful to be given two stepkids to love and guide and cherish....
That day, both in their 60's, she grabbed one of his favorite glass statues and threatened to: "smash it on the ground if he did not talk to her." I remember thinking: "Wow....here I am aged 26/27 overhearing this...what went on when I was....3....4....5...years old I don't actively remember?
----------->
There is so much more...but it is time to take a hot bubble bath, continue reading a book about boundaries someone just recommended to me, and then work tomorrow morning...........Oh boy...................if you made it this far..............let me pay you a full hour of what my counselor charges..........haha oh well............it did feel healing and cathartic to write it out, even if nobody ever reads it. In future posts I will focus on sharing healing resources and giving others support.
THANK YOU from the bottom of my heart if you made it this far.
xoxoxoxox
submitted by mari135 to raisedbynarcissists [link] [comments]


2018.01.01 21:10 CryopodBot Hidden camera dorm room sex

Previous Part
..........
A sharp beam of light pierces the solar screen outside and lands directly on my face, making me blink my eyes and raise an untrapped arm to shield my face. A computerized voice speaks from the ceiling, softly so as to not wake the other in the room. "Supreme Commander, it is the designated time for you to wake up."
I yawn reflexively and pull some hair out of my mouth as I smack my lips. It's Sarah's hair, not mine. She was so excited to see me that she dozed off on top of me after I plowed her for five hours straight. I feel like part of my soul has been sucked out of my body, along with other uncouth things. Her small, soft, supple form, coupled with her decisive sexual appetite and knowledge contrast dramatically with Lora's. Lora is taller, standing nearly half a head higher, and her body is made of iron thanks to the enhancements I've given her. As well, her past prevents her from fully enjoying sex.
But Sarah is something else. It's like the great gods of this universe engineered the perfect life form. I'm reminded of succubi, from myths of old. The perfect taste, the perfect size, and the perfect feeling... everything a man could want in a woman.
Funny, why do I think of succubi at a time like this? I feel more than a passing feeling of familiarity with the thought. Were there any in Yama's lair? They would be demonic entities, after all.
No. I never saw one.
I flinch slightly as a feeling of pain spreads inside my head. Sometimes I feel like I'm on the verge of something big, but it never pans out. Maybe I've contracted a permanent side effect of the cryosleep sickness sickness. Perhaps I was in the icy containment unit for so much time it screwed up my head.
That's probably all it is.
The woman on top of me mumbles something and I feel a drop of liquid on my chest as she drools in her sleep. I don't mind. It feels good, being this close to a woman. Something about this position too... it feels familiar. Even Sarah herself evokes faint images of a false past. Christ, I'm probably going insane. Did the demons poison me somehow? Being around all those horrors must have messed up my head.
Gently, I roll over and pull Sarah to my side, kissing her hard as our lips meet. I simply can't get enough... she's intoxicating. I want to chew on her breasts all day long, spend the rest of my life with her.
This feeling is... unnatural.
I manage to tear myself away and breathe heavily as I lie on my back. There's a faint noise outside the bedroom, the sound of something rustling around, which makes my heart freeze. It's probably that goddamn demonic animal thing. What in the seven hells created it? Why would that other Jason have something like that roaming around his house? Self-defense? Maybe to protect Sarah? If the latter, I couldn't blame him. There isn't a woman alive comparable to her. If Sarah were to die, I feel like my heart would tear in half.
I sit up and spin carefully to sit on the edge of my bed. The thought of that black hound outside fills me with dread. Quietly, I whisper under my breath. "Wear."
My invisible armor appears on my body and immediately I can breathe a little easier. The thought it would take that mutt some real effort to chew my insides to pieces is somehow comforting.
I stand up and yank my clothes to myself with telekinesis with a practiced movement. All the pieces fly on at once, and I levitate myself in the air to yank my pants onto my legs. If I had what I would call a signature power, a favorite technique, it would be telekinesis.
What about the other Jason? Did he have a preferred ability? Maybe super speed, strength, manipulating the minds of others...
No, even beyond him, what about other Wordsmiths? Didn't Yama say there were more of them? He told me there was an army of them. He claimed they were hunting me down and were going to kill me... yet they don't exist as far as I can see.
Did he lie to me? Have I been wrong, all along?
I understand the need to lie. Lying is one way a weak, frail race like the demons might be able to survive. Keeping slaves to use as sexual currency among the humans is likely just one way they have to maintain order. Demons are more cunning than I might have thought. No doubt they possess plenty of spiritual energy, and many abilities similar to mine, but against the might of humanity, those are trifles.
One thing is for sure. I despise weaklings.
Sarah rustles in the bed behind me as I start to walk to the door. "Jason? Where are you going, honey?"
I turn back to her and smile slightly. "Just to eat some food. Would you like anything?"
She rolls around on the bed, clutching the blankets to her chest for several seconds. Back and forth she rolls until she decides to sit up. "I do! I want three juicy steaks, a big bowl of macaroni and cheese, a plate of smoked salmon, one head of lettuce, a glass of cold milk, and at least fifteen sugar cookies!"
Several long seconds pass as I stare at her giddy, childlike expression of glee. She's serious. "Uh. Okay. I'll get right on that."
I start to reach out with my mind to move the dresser I blocked the door with, but she pipes up again. "Oh! We forgot to pray last night! We have to pray before the meal in that case!"
"Huh? Pray? Why?" I turn to raise an eyebrow at her, and she flops back on the bed. "Duh, silly! It's the law! Jeez, you're so forgetful sometimes. I'll have to ask Marie to take it a little easier on you at the office."
"Oh. The law. I see." I scratch my head at the thought of prayer being mandatory. I'm not a particularly religious person, especially not after finding out demons are real and that angels exist. The whole point of prayer is faith, right? It doesn't take faith to pray to something you know exists.
The dresser heaves away from the door with the power of my mind, and I swallow as I press the unlock button. The door slides up, and I spare a peek around the corner. The massive black hound isn't anywhere to be seen. I carefully walk through the door, keeping my pace slow, and a voice speaks out in the room. "Oh. Supreme Commander. I didn't know you were back from your trip already."
A young boy, about twelve years old, sits at a table, chewing on something that reminds me of a granola bar. He has long blonde hair and blue eyes, just like Sarah and I both. "Who are you?"
He pauses mid-bite and stares at me with a slight confusion on his face, though somehow the regal manner in which he sits belies a certain maturity for his age. "Are you testing me?"
I clear my throat and stand up straight. He seems to regard me with a certain level of awe, so it's best not disrupt that image. "Yes. State your name and our relationship."
Even as he speaks, I feel the memories of him begin to enter my mind. "Sorry, sir. I am Timothy Hiro, your 130th child, the youngest of your bloodline."
I groan inwardly. He's my son, and I just acted like I didn't even know him. This whole 'taking the other Jason's place' is harder than I thought. "Excellent. I'm glad you remember your place."
I calmly continue walking past to the kitchen counter, and just as I'm about to wordsmith some food, Sarah appears at the doorway. Her carefree smile evaporates as she spots Timothy. "W-what are you doing here? You're supposed to be with-"
He stands up quickly, a similar expression on his face. "I apologize, mother. I did not realize father was home. The dormitories are unavailable for a week due to renovations. I assumed father would not be home, so I thought it would be okay if I stayed here for a while." He flinches reflexively and shoots an odd look at me. "Sorry, sir. I didn't mean anything by that."
Huh? What the hell is this kid talking about? "You didn't mean anything by... what?"
He gazes at me silently for a few moments, then lowers his eyes. "I didn't mean to refer to you as 'father'. I know how you don't like that."
A long, uncomfortable silence fills the entire room as everyone stares silently at each other. Finally, I groan loudly. "You may call me 'father'. I don't particularly mind."
"Huh?" Sarah stares at me in disbelief. "What? But- I thought- when did you decide this?"
I shrug and speak a word to the air. "Food." In front of me, a series of plates appear, holding all the foods Sarah had asked for in the bedroom a minute before. "I decided just now. Is that a problem?"
Timothy raises his head up again, but this time, not to look at me... but at the food I created. "How did you do that?"
Sarah stares at me in wide-eyed disbelief. "You just... wordsmithed in front of your son..."
"Wordsmithed?" Timothy turns to his mother. "What is that? It looked like magic- like what the demons use."
Goddammit. Things are going from one to one hundred rapidly.
Still, it won't do to get distressed now. I need to play it cool. I keep my gaze even as I look between the two of them. "I've never really been there for you, have I, Timothy?"
His lip trembles slightly. "Uh... I mean..."
"I've been a terrible father. I see that now." My simple words resonate in the air as both of them glance at each other and back to me. "I went into the labyrinth and saw some disturbing things. Those things are not fit for a conversation among friends or family, so I will spare you both the details. Nevertheless, they shook me to my core."
Sarah nods slowly. "You have been acting strange, sweetheart. I didn't realize that... that you'd gone through so much."
I nod sagely and make a show of closing my eyes as if I'm in pain. "I'm sorry, to both of you. I need to be a better man."
"N-no, you're fine just the way you are, sir." Timothy carefully takes another bite of the granola bar in his hand. "I'm just... confused. I didn't realize you could use... magic..." He glances at Sarah and she smiles at him pleasantly. Underneath her smile though, I feel a sense of hostility. Something akin to stop asking so many questions of your father, but it might just be me.
"Your father has always had these abilities. He and I made a family decision not to let our children know, though. The fewer people who knew, the fewer chances there would be for political enemies to use us against him."
"Oh." Timothy nods. "So not even my elder brothers and sisters know?"
"Not even one." Sarah swallows hard and shoots me a questioning look. I honestly have no idea if it's true, but I wink at her in the affirmative. She glides over and sits down at the table, next to Timothy and touches his hand. "Well, if your father is okay with it, you can stay here until the dorms open again. However, you must agree not to let his secret leave beyond the three of us."
Before Timothy can nod, I pick up two plates of food and walk over to the table, setting both of them in front of Sarah. "I could also erase his memory, you know."
"Yes, you can. You probably should, too." She ignores the food and continues to stare at me as I turn and walk back to grab the rest of her meal.
Timothy clears his throat. "If you must, I understand, sir."
"Stop calling me 'sir'. I don't like it anymore." I set the food down and cut a piece of Sarah's steak off for myself to try it out. The flavor is quite sublime, and the texture is soft and juicy. Just the way I prefer it.
"O-okay. What should I call you then?" Timothy shifts nervously in his seat and grips the remainder of his food bar tighter.
"Just call me 'father'. That will do."
He swallows audibly. "Yes, father. Th-thank you."
I smile pleasantly at him, which only seems to disturb him more. He acts like he's never seen his dad smile, not even once. "There's no reason to be tense. I'm going to do a better job raising you, from now on. Certainly, more than I ever did before. I'm not going to erase your memory either. I am willing to trust my own son, after all."
Sarah smiles abruptly, having taken the situation in stride. "That's why I love you so much, Jason! You're always full of surprises!"
I can't tell if she's pulling my leg. Every time I get a hint of the previous Jason's life, he comes off as a stiff workaholic, and a devout pacifist... assuming Marie's description of his past is accurate. Describing him as being 'full of surprises' is the opposite of what I'd imagine.
As the three of us finish off our food, with me making extra for myself and Timothy, the feeling around the table gradually becomes a little more relaxed, and Timothy even tries to smile as well. He's terrible at it, just like myself, but I have to appreciate him trying. This must be quite the odd experience for him. His father, whom he apparently rarely spoke with, has transformed from a soulless, heartless robot, into someone with a genuine personality.
Gods... I'm doing these two a favor by replacing the previous Jason. I'd kill myself if I ended up as lifeless and empty as he must have been. He wasn't just a weakling, but a terrible parent with no redeeming attributes.
I finish off a cup of orange juice and dab my mouth with a napkin. "Oh... by the way, I've been wondering where that demonic animal has gone."
Timothy tilts his head toward a door. "I don't like him very much, so I usually put him in the other room when I'm here." His face pales immediately after he says this. "I-I mean, if you want, I can release him, father. I didn't realize you would be home, and I was only thinking of myself. I'll just go and-"
"No!! I mean, no, that is fine. Just leave Fido in there. I'm not angry at all, Timothy." A bead of sweat trickles down my back at the realization I just averted a heart attack. At the least, this kid and I are remarkably similar to each other when it comes to that damn dog.
Sarah looks miffed at me. "His name is Skippy, Jason. Seriously... you named him."
I did? Jesus Christ, the other Jason was a major stupid-ass. I'd rather name that animal Lucifer-Fucker or something. "I know, I'm just joking... honey." I spit the pet name out and cringe inwardly. I should just avoid those and let other people use them. They don't suit me at all.
She giggles as if I just said the funniest thing in the world. "Oh, you! You've never been one to have a sense of humor! I like these new changes, it's getting me all hot and bothered."
Timothy shifts in his seat. "Mother..."
"Right, right, sorry! You're still a child, not even two-hundred years old! I can't be talking like that in front of you. I'm such a pervert!"
I spare a glance at Timothy's face. He's almost two hundred years old? Good grief, he's nearly ten times older than me, his so-called 'father'. It's tough to consider giving out fatherly advice to an old man. The only thing old about me is my physical appearance, since I'm deliberately disguising myself as the other Jason.
I clean up the table with my levitation after I'm done, and then get up from my seat. "Alright, Sarah. I'm off. I have a meeting with the local military generals today."
She jumps up and hugs me, rubbing her blessed body against mine excitedly. "Ohhh, do you have to go? Why not take a day off and stay with me?"
"I'd love to, but this is already scheduled. I have to keep up appearances. You know how it is."
She pulls back and gives me a perplexed look. "Nope, no clue! Anyway, we need to pray before you go. It's the law."
Timothy looks up from his chair, startled. "Oh! I forgot last night! I'll join in!"
"Tsk tsk. Like father, like son!" Sarah pulls me back to the table and joins hands with Timothy. All of us sit down and bow our heads, but nobody says anything. I start to feel a little weirded out, but she raises her head back up. "Okay! I gave my energy to Zeus, like usual."
"I as well." Timothy pulls away from her and looks at me.
"I did too." I lie without hesitation. I have no idea what they're talking about, but it's easy enough to play along.
Timothy and Sarah both yawn at the same time. Sarah speaks as soon as she's finished. "Oh man, that took a lot out of me. I'm gonna nap for a while. Have a good day at work!"
She leans over and kisses me on the cheek playfully before getting up and heading to her room. I, in turn, stand and walk to the doorway. "I'll see you tonight, Sarah."
She pauses before entering the room. "Oh, sorry. I'm going over to Marcus Atkins place this evening. I won't be back until the day after, but I'll see you then!"
Huh? Marcus Atkins? Another man?
I decide to ignore that for the moment. I have more pressing concerns. "Right... see you later, then."
Unceremoniously, I wave to Timothy and head out the door. He waves back timidly as well. "Goodbye... father."
Those two words must have taken more courage than even my decision to kill Gressil... when all of this began.
"You too, kid."
...................................
This universe is strange. Foreign. Everything is upside down. The more I learn, the more questions I have to ask. Why the hell would prayer be mandatory, enshrined in the law? Does it help combat the demons or something?
I've hardly asked the question in my mind when the answer appears in the form of one of Supreme Commander Jason's memories.
Prayer gives energy to the angels and gods, who require it to live. This, in turn, forges an unbreakable alliance. Humans do not require this energy for any reason, and thus we can give ours freely. In return, they offer us a one-time life insurance policy: the ability to be reborn as angels if we should die. However, this is shameful. Only a fool would die after being given effective immortality.
Ah, I see. I don't understand how that resurrection system works, but that is a fair trade-off. I should go and visit the angels soon, and see how their society functions, as well as what it looks like.
I move from place to place, taking my time and absorbing the sights as I glance down at the pad in my hand. It's the most advanced piece of electronics I've ever seen in my life, yet the memories the old Jason has of it are littered with words like outdated and obsolete. There are gadgets of far higher technological superiority than even this in existence, and I can't begin to fathom how they might work.
I pause after entering an open area with a glass floor, a large round pod-like building that connects the megascraper I live in to the Stratoscraper I work at. This large intermediary is held up by a long, thin pole that extends up from the planet's surface two miles below. Such a sturdy pole could not be made in the world I came from, but here it is just one of many unbelievable things that allow this world to thrive.
As I walk, I glance down below at what is presumably the planet's surface. The transparent floor allows me to see a thick cloud-like formation of mist, but unlike the white clouds I saw when I was growing up, these are brown, as if someone had stained the clouds with thick paint. I cannot see the ground at all. There are numerous smaller buildings visible in between skyscrapers, megascrapers, and stratoscrapers, but all of the smaller buildings extend only a little above the clouds. Most are barely even visible.
Smog. The word pops into my head and I stare with a feeling of melancholy. In the end, humanity ruined the Earth. We exploited it to hell and back, and now we live in these massive buildings not out of luxury, but necessity.
I pull my datapad up to look at it. Something catches my eye that I hadn't noticed before. The ambient temperature around me is a perfect twenty-one degrees Celsius, but the temperature outside is listed as... fifty-five degrees? Good god, the greenhouse effect must be in full swing. The sun doesn't appear any brighter in the sky, so I doubt it's that.
I continue walking through the center building and eventually arrive in the stratoscraper that leads to my office, and other military facilities. As my memories arrive one by one, pieces fall into place. In addition to the diplomacy venues, my office, the Engineering Corps, and other such facilities, this building also is a place where four hundred million humans show up to work every single day. I wonder what sort of tasks they have to complete? There were never enough jobs in the time I came from, so with all of the automation on display, either unemployment has been eradicated, or something shifted fundamentally in society to allow so many jobs to exist.
I head toward an elevator, and a chill goes down my spine as a voice speaks from a dark corner off to the side. "There you are, Jason Hiro." Yama steps slightly from the darkness to look at me, though he stays tucked away where the light can't reach him.
"Yama? What are you doing here? Aren't you in danger walking among humans?" I step toward him and glance around hesitantly. "There are a lot of cameras and people around here... this is a foolish move just to see me. You're going to get both of us caught."
"Unlikely. This is where I meet all of my informants. It is just off the beaten path, and this hover-shaft services only elites in the upper levels. In any case, I am in contact with many of them already."
"I see. Still, why are you bothering me? I wasn't expecting to run into you."
He holds his hand forward, and I spot a familiar black orb at once. "You left behind your source of power. Blaarjiim can give answers to many questions I am certain you have."
"Oh. Right." I quickly step forward and pluck the black orb from his hands, then stare at it uneasily. "This thing is the size of a softball. How am I supposed to hide it?"
Blaarjiim's ancient face appears in my mind. "Your wordsmithing is the source of many abilities that you have yet to discover. Simply speak the word 'storage' and I can be hidden there and pulled out whenever you wish. However, this has the downside that I will be cut off from the physical realm and left all alone... so I would prefer you not do this unless necessary."
"Huh. That's an option, I suppose." I scratch my chin and look down at Yama. "I have a question though since you're here. It's in regards to the Supreme Commander whose place I took."
He folds his arms together and stares at me. "Go on."
"You said that there were hundreds, even thousands of other Wordsmiths that could kill me, yet the Supreme Commander knew of only himself and I. Did you lie to me?"
He nods. "I did. However, in a way, I did not."
"I don't understand."
"Neither do I." Yama hisses and looks to my side as if deep in thought. "I know that other Wordsmiths exist. I have seen them. I am certain Marie knows of their existence as well. In my spying, I have seen them come and go, yet from where they hail, I am not sure."
"So they do exist? You're cryptic." I growl in irritation. "Why can't you just be honest with me? I understand why you might lie, but it isn't an endearing quality or one that builds a positive alliance up. Rather, it will tear down any trust we could have."
Yama sneers at me and leans back against the wall. "You play with words that hold no meaning. I trust you as little as you trust me. It is for the foolish. I have placed a nugget of hope that you might be useful to me one day, but I know you might turn your personal prejudice against me as well. It is a risky gamble, but one that I am willing to take."
Blaarjiim smiles in the back of my brain. "Humans consolidate their power and use their numerical and technological superiority to crush demonkind, while demons bicker and squabble among each other for the rights to rule increasingly smaller plots of land. It is apparent that one of these two is going to win this war while the other loses. Yama, you would do well to speak the truth in front of this human. You've foolishly given him the chance to destroy you if he wishes."
I pat the orb lovingly with my free hand. "That's the spirit, Blaarjiim. Yama, he's correct. I don't like it when people aren't straight with me. A little honesty would help our relationship mature."
Yama's smirk fades away, and he glares at me listlessly. "If you think the demons are full of lies, you have yet to meet the rest of your kind. The best way I have found to ensure the safety of my species is by harnessing the greed of yours. You will soon find this out, one way or another. I seek only one thing; to return demons to their former numbers and to rebuild our kind to their former glory. I do not seek the destruction of humanity, merely the sovereignty of my own. Is that too much to ask for, human?"
I sigh and stare at Blaarjiim for several seconds. "Not really, I suppose. I can understand, and even respect that ideal."
"Most excellent. Then we see eye to eye on this issue."
The demon smiles cunningly at me, and I resist the urge to quip. Eye to eye? But I'm six-feet tall, and you're just under four!
Yeah, that would be slightly disrespectful. "We do. In any case, I have a meeting to attend to. Thank you for the... present."
An idea pops into my head from seemingly nowhere. "Oh, Blaarjiim, are you capable of being silent when out in the open? No speaking at all, not even to me in my mind."
"I am."
Great. That makes this easy for me. I quickly wordsmith a sling that wraps over my shoulder and loops down to my waist. I then set Blaarjiim inside of it. "Invisible."
The sling and his orb both vanish from view. Yama smiles creepily at me. "An inventive solution, as expected. However, Marie has energy sensors everywhere. They may pick him up if you pass inside their range. This area is a blind spot, so it's fine for now."
"I understand. In that case, what if..." I aim my mind at Blaarjiim's now-invisible orb. "Suppress."
Yama tosses his hands in the air. "I can no longer sense him. You'd best hope you don't drop his orb, or you're unlikely to find it."
"I wouldn't say that. Summon." With a single word, his invisible orb disappears from the sling and reappears in my hand.
Yama gapes at me for a moment for regaining his composure. "You have this under control. I will be going, then."
I nod and turn to walk toward the hover-shaft. "And I as well. Thank you for bringing Blaarjiim to me, Yama."
Yama doesn't reply, and instead makes a sign with his hands. He vanishes, and I'm left standing by my lonesome.
"The Second Emperor is a formidable demon, you know. Even so, he is worried about what your appearance will do to human society, for the good or the bad." Blaarjiim chuckles softly. "Heh... I warned Yama once... he had stabilized the situation. Throwing a wrench in the machine is a terrible choice. The humans lack the diplomatic votes needed to exterminate the demons, and the previous Supreme Commander was a sympathetic man to the demon's cause. He didn't wish to eliminate them, albeit less because he liked demons, and more because of what would happen after."
"After?"
"If humanity has no enemy, they will invent a new one. It's as simple as that."
"Cheh. Life is boring without conflict. Rainbows and bunnies are not what I live for." I step into the hover-shaft and press the button which will take me to the conference floor.
"What is a 'bunny'?"
Blaarjiim's confused expression makes me almost laugh. "It's nothing. Just an animal humanity has probably exterminated."
The bastards.
...................................
Yaaaawn! I'm tired! Enjoy the part!
Part 403B - The Dark Descent
submitted by CryopodBot to klokinator [link] [comments]


2017.08.19 22:16 Ilunibi Hidden camera dorm room sex

After the events with Miranda the RA and her uncontrolled summoning of one of the most powerful Earls of Hell, I won’t lie and say I didn’t have my suspicions about Cereal Girl. She was always just there, always in the right place at the right time, conveniently a witness for every threat Miranda threw at me and each exchange I left pinned back on her door. A sliver of me was convinced that she was the real culprit, framing Miranda to throw me off of her trail and delighting in my misguided attempts to stop her.
Cereal Girl, however, turned out to just be an insomniac, 4/20 enthusiast named Erika Dolores Ellison.
Or “Eddie,” if you will.
She was half my size and stayed camped in the hall’s kitchen, an omnipresent fridge goblin who spent every waking moment functionally baked and cramming food into her mouth. She had a girlfriend attending an art institute in Georgia, came from an affluent family who she figured would be in debt by the end of her already faltering college career, and was accidentally the eyes and ears of our floor. Which, honestly, suited her fine. Freshmen girls were petty, their drama was hilarious, and she couldn’t help but be amused by the weird, metaphysical battle between me and Miranda.
Both of us were still floundering freshmen who never quite pulled out of that awkward loner phase, struggling to make friends we connected with or finding a place where we belonged. Most people avoided her like the plague because she had no filter or shame, just like people avoided me because I’m awkward and unintentionally abrasive. She watched my back when I was out of the building, and I taught her small little tricks here and there that she couldn’t possibly fuck up while high. She even got in good with Dead Coyote, to the point he started selling her some of his weed when she ran out.
My one point of contention with Eddie, though, was that she was a bit more, well, libidinous than I was. Not that I’m a prude--I grew up with Dead Coyote, and he had a library of sex magic notes that I accidentally found when I was ten--but she had a weird obsession with my lack of an active love life. After glancing across a few things about the left-hand path on the internet, she became absolutely convinced that I must be doing something wrong because “evil” spells were powered by the sheer power of dicks. After a week or two of convincing her that hypersexuality really didn’t have anything to do with petitioning demons, she decided it was still a national tragedy that I was a single virgin and made it her solemn mission to hook me up with anyone that had two legs and functioning reproductive organs.
The pool she drew from was shallow. Being an outcast on campus, she basically would invite me out to “parties” with “friends” she made off of school grounds, each and every one of them hauntingly similar to Dead Coyote’s old customers. I could tell that she was a bit annoyed that I’d escort myself out before taking one of her potential Cassanovas to bed, but honestly? They reminded me too much of bad times and I’m a woman with actual standards.
Thankfully, she seemed to have gotten over it by the time spring break rolled around. I’d not heard a crack about needing somebody to keep me warm at night since winter ended, and she hadn’t invited me out to one of her white trash hookah parties in over a month. Most of our conversations usually revolved around what JRPG she had been playing that week, what weird shit I’d experienced over the previous days, and how much we mutually hated our required Gen Eds. Getting me laid seemed to be the last thing on her mind and I was one hundred percent okay with the fact she’d given up since it wasn’t a huge priority for me anyway.
The day that break started, she stood with me outside as I loaded my bags into Dead Coyote’s trunk, asking a thousand questions about why it was him and not my mother that came to pick me up. I didn’t know how to tell a girl who grew up in an actual, functional family that Dead Coyote had practically raised me so I didn’t have to raise myself, so I shrugged it off and told her that we were just really close. There was a knowing spark in her eye, the corner of her mouth curling up in a saucy smile as she tossed a handful of M&Ms into her mouth.
“‘Close.’ Yeah. I get’cha.”
A part of me was offended and wanted to say something. That part of me shut up when Dead Coyote slammed the trunk shut.
“Oh, yeah, Eddie. Didn’t you know? Me and Seymour’re secretly married on the astral plane or some shit.”
“You can do that?” she asked incredulously.
“Fuck no.”
She took being shut down in better stride than most eighteen-year-old girls, nearly choking on candy and snorting a laugh as she hugged me goodbye and told me to give her a call if I needed anything. She didn’t plan on going back home because she liked her independence too much and had one more disc left of Final Fantasy VII before she was finally done, and that game had become a personal quest. Besides, she couldn’t get away with being stoned all the time if she spent the week with her parents.
It felt nice to be back at Dead Coyote’s apartment an hour later, throwing my bags on his living room floor and collapsing on the couch that had been my bed for four years.
For the first couple of days of my spring break, things went pretty swimmingly, as though there had never been a gap in the time that I lived on that sofa. There were trashy talk shows aplenty, gossip on every street corner, and frozen gas station pizzas stacked to the top of an otherwise bare kitchen freezer. Dead Coyote confessed, rather bashfully, that he’d been trying to work with essential oils because he found out the scent of lavender snapped him out of some lesser jitters. He offered me my first beer, and after I downed four of them we mutually decided that essential oils were for pussies and he was getting soft in his old age.
Day three was when things started to get weird.
It began with dreams, weird and slimy dreams that slithered through my mind like serpents and left me awake in a cold sweat, my stomach twisted, and my thighs pressed so tightly together that I’d have made a good mermaid. Sex dreams, wild ones, but wild in a way that was terrifying and scarring. A wet, coppery tongue against my neck, and I could wake up and still smell it in the air. Something rough and cold running down my back, claws digging into my hips, sensations I could feel when I’d snap out of it. The heat was awful, not a warm and sensual heat, but like sticking your face in front of an open oven door.
The first night, I ignored it. You see, occultist or not, I’m always hesitant to blame things on paranormal sources because a lot of the time, your world and your own brain can be ten times more unpredictable and strange. My eyes snapped open on the couch and I sat there, shaking in the dark, until I remembered how stressed out and pissed off Eddie had made me over the course of the semester with her constant attempts to hook me up. I told myself it was probably a combination of being a new drinker and having lingering frustrations about that whole mess. I forced myself back to sleep.
The second night was more intense. No licking, no claws, but I was nine years old and laying on the ground in the alley by Dead Coyote’s apartment, watching a blurry stranger with a knife talk about how tight he thought I’d be. I instantly recognized it as the same goddamn scene with Joseph Shepherd, but when my vision steadied and I looked up to see who was kneeling in front of me, Dead Coyote grinned back at me with eyes like obsidian stone. His teeth weren’t human. It was like somebody took the teeth of a dog and crammed them in a person’s mouth.
I woke up screaming. Loud, baleful howling that I couldn’t even stifle with my pillow. Dead Coyote--real and in the flesh--actually fell down the steps tripping over himself to get to me, though the adrenaline pulsing through me told me to get away from him as fast as possible. I was locked in the bathroom when a concerned neighbor came over to ask what the problem was, Dead Coyote awkwardly trying to convince him that, no, he hadn’t killed anyone and, no, he actually had no idea what was going on either.
When he finally coaxed me out from underneath the sink, I felt nothing but awkward shame explaining my nightmares to him. He didn’t seem scandalized more than concerned, and we spent a good twenty minutes playing armchair psychiatrist while I sniffled into my blanket. He figured it was a mixture of alcohol and hormones. He also conceded that he had no idea what he was talking about, but it made sense logically. Probably. If you squint.
“Either way, princess, if you want, you can sleep up in my room,” he offered with a tired shrug. “Maybe that’ll help.”
So, I followed him upstairs. I knew the offer was just because he was exhausted and didn’t want to deal with me crying anymore, but the idea of having somebody nearby made me feel safe. I curled up on his mattress on the floor, back-to-back with him, swearing up and down that if alcohol was the culprit that I’d just not drink anything the following day. That had to fix the problem, right? I dozed off with wet eyes and a renewed resolve, and I kept to my promise.
I didn’t drink.
But Dead Coyote did, and the more he drank, the more I realized that something was off about the way he was behaving. Mid-conversation, he’d stop and stare, almost like there was something strange or different about me and he couldn’t figure out what it was. Occasionally, if he thought I was distracted, I’d catch him gawking at me like a slack-jawed frat boy at a strip club, but the expression on his face was odd. There was a light on in the attic, a conscious effort he was trying to make not to do what he was doing, but whatever had a hold of him wasn’t going to let him turn away. I was convinced it was because of the fact he’d been downing vodka like a Russian warlord, but after the fifth or sixth time he caught himself, he grabbed a pen, opened his hand, and practically carved a banishing sigil into his palm.
When I asked if he was okay, he flatly told me I’d be sleeping in his room the rest of my stay. When I asked why, he told me he didn’t have a clear answer for me, but he was going to figure it out.
He was the one who didn’t sleep through the night that evening. I was out like a light when I heard him growling profanity just behind my head and felt him sit up and climb off the bed. I listened as he paced and mumbled to himself, as he walked downstairs to get a glass of water. He wandered around the living room a bit, then meandered back upstairs and disappeared in the bathroom. I heard pills rattling around in a bottle and secretly prayed they were legal before he finally laid back down and struggled to go to sleep. His twisting and turning and cussing kept us both awake.
“A bad dream,” he told me the next morning. He paused for a moment, considered his words, then added, “Same dreams you were having. Sort of.”
“Sort of?” I echoed. He ignored me.
“That shit ain’t normal. That shit ain’t natural. Princess, it was like somethin’ was fuckin’ my soul. Or like somethin’ that ain’t got a clue what fuckin’ is was trying to fuck my soul. Bullshit. Pure fuckin’ bullshit.”
He decided that it had to be his fault, somehow, and that maybe he had messed up a ritual and invited something in by accident. With an exhausted sigh, he had me go get his holy water from beneath the kitchen sink and went to dig his leftover sage out of his closet. Our morning was spent cranking the radio up as loud as it could go to keep ourselves awake, smudging every corner, crevasse, and crack in his apartment, and then collapsing on the couch to eat cold fridge pizza and watch Maury. Dead Coyote ended up on my shoulder, asleep and drooling on my hair by the time the show’s host got to the first paternity test result.
No offense to Dead Coyote, but he’s capable of slobbering like his namesake and his spit had the distinct odor of garlic, Listerine, and death. I let him get in a nap, albeit begrudgingly, but the second I could shake him awake without feeling like the world’s biggest bitch, I nudged him off of me and excused myself to take a shower. Hair clung to the side of my neck. I grimaced and hoped there was enough shampoo in the apartment for the both of us.
Now, are you one of those people who gets scared there may be somebody behind the shower curtain while you’re bathing? Like, maybe you’ve seen Psycho one too many times and now you feel the need to check every three seconds to make sure a serial killer isn’t creeping up on you? I used to not be like that because I used to think I wasn’t a coward, but after we cleansed the apartment and I was in the process of cleansing myself, I kept getting this sinking feeling in my stomach like I was being watched. That slight, weird pressure that makes the back of your neck tingle like when somebody is standing directly behind you.
But it was coming from everywhere, and it didn’t stay slight. My face dropped when I realized I could physically feel something beating down on me like the air had become ten times heavier, that I could taste something sour whenever I inhaled, that my brain could pick up on a force, a personality that I couldn’t see. The shower was hot, but the bathroom grew hotter, and my mind raced back to when I was thirteen years old and I fucked up summoning Marchosias. When I opened my eyes when I shouldn’t have.
I peeked out of the shower.
Dead Coyote greeted me. Except not. I knew those eyes and that incorrect smile. I had seen it in my dreams and in that summoning circle all those years ago, and there he was: Not-Coyote, just standing there. Grinning. Strangely enough, he wasn’t very threatening, but he seemed to be enjoying the fact that I was paler than normal and about to piss myself.
I yanked the shower curtain down and nearly brained myself scrambling for the door. I felt something rough drag across my side as Not-Coyote reached out to touch me as I flew, naked and screaming, down the stairs. I had no time for shame or dignity or anything, only enough time to glance up the stairs when I hit the bottom and see Not-Coyote tilt its head and calmly walk from the top of the stairs to Dead Coyote’s bedroom.
Dead Coyote himself, having dozed off again, sat up like Frankenstein’s monster when I hit the bottom landing. He stared at me, nude and dripping with shampoo still in my hair, his brows knitted together in confusion. For a good, long minute he was absolutely silent, stuck in between being puzzled and mortified. When I had yelled myself hoarse and the same good samaritan neighbor from before was banging on the door and threatening to call the police, he finally found his voice.
“Uh, princess? You, uh, you forget what pants were for a minute or, like, is this some kind of weird white girl mating ritual I’m not aware of?”
I ignored him, instead pointing up the stairs and screeching at the top of my lungs, “Glasyalabolas!”
After I was walked back up the stairs to rinse my hair and dress myself (because I sure as hell was not going up there alone), and after Dead Coyote spent thirty minutes trying to convince the police that this wasn’t a case of domestic abuse, we sat outside on the stoop of his apartment staring at cars because I didn’t want to be inside. I hadn’t really realized just how scarred I was from my first tryst with Glasyalabolas until that moment, that very brief moment where I fucked up envisioning his polar opposite and brought forth a monster that got a kick out of stealing Dead Coyote’s face. The dreams couldn’t have been helping, either, with the alley scene replaying over and over and over in my head like a fucking movie trailer.
“Didn’t Miranda threaten you with Glasyalabolas twice?” Dead Coyote asked dryly, practically inhaling his cigarette. I didn’t look at him, instead looking at the neighbor who called the police, watching me from the sidewalk as he dragged his garbage to the curb. He still looked suspicious and I was absolutely humiliated. I thought back to my first, disastrous summoning and how I’d felt so much safer just physically feeling Dead Coyote’s presence in the circle. Like a little girl, I grabbed his hand and gave it a squeeze.
“She did,” I finally answered. My voice was still cracked.
“I seem to remember tellin’ that bitch I’d end her if she fucked with you, yeah? And she ain’t just fucked with you. She messed with me. Ain’t sure which one I’m more mad about.”
He exhaled smoke out of his nose and made a growling sound in his throat.
“It’s been awhile since I’ve ruined someone, princess.”
We barely discussed a plan. I waited outside, clutching a beer in my hand while he went through my belongings to check for any sort of talisman that could have been hidden in my things. When nothing turned up, he quietly walked back out, locked his door, and escorted me to his car.
The car ride was silent. He didn’t even turn the radio on. I stared blankly out the window, angry and embarrassed. How many times had I done rituals and how many times had I called upon spirits and how many times had I proved myself useless in the face of anything more powerful than a disembodied spirit? I couldn’t help with Furfur, I nearly killed a kid with a raccoon bone in sixth grade, and now I was trembling and shaken over a demon I’d actually encountered before. Even though I tried to convince myself it was a reasonable response to the patron demon of murder, I couldn’t help but compared myself to Dead Coyote.
He fought Furfur. He was going to go fight a girl who summoned Glasyalabolas. The man knew no fear. I desperately wanted him to be proud of me, but I felt like trash.
Also, he’d seen me naked, and that shame made it hard to make eye contact with him.
The parking lot in front of the dorm building was mostly empty, save for Eddie’s car and a couple of others. He practically pulled right up to the door and barely waited for the car to stop rolling before he jumped out of his seat. I quickly reached over to throw the car in park and turn it off, tucking the keys in my pocket as I tailed him inside. The lobby was a ghost town, the RA office predictably empty and ninety percent of the denizens having fled the campus for greener pastures. Dead Coyote’s footsteps echoed through the nothing as he stomped up the steps to get to my floor.
He punched in the security code. He entered the dorm hallway. I huddled down as I glanced at the cameras hoping that campus security or a hiding RA wouldn’t come running him down to try to pick a fight because, with Dead Coyote on his warpath, I knew it would end with him arrested. I tried to hide my face as he stopped dead in front of Miranda’s room, glowered at her tacky cork board covered in well-wishes from friends, and punched the door.
Not knock. Punch. As hard as he could. The door rattled, the sound echoed down the hallway. I waited for anyone to poke their head out to see what the fuss was about, but it seemed that the place was entirely abandoned. Except for--
“Miranda’s not here.”
The voice was calm, steady, muffled, and punctuated with crunching. It was a shock, a shock enough that Dead Coyote short circuited for a moment, standing there with a blank expression on his face and his fist still raised to strike. Standing in the middle of the hallway and clutching a bowl was none other than Eddie. She smiled and waved a spoon at us. It was Cocoa Puffs this time.
“She went to Florida, I think? Other RAs are taking her shift or something, but I think they skipped out, too. Fuckin’ assholes, right?”
She chewed, she swallowed.
“What are you guys doing here anyway? You got, like, three days before you gotta be back, Seymour.”
Exhausted, embarrassed, with dark circles ringing under my eyes and my hair a mess, I told her everything. About the dreams, about the weird way Dead Coyote had briefly acted, about the fact I felt so unsafe that I couldn’t sleep in the living room. I told her about the dog-toothed Not-Coyote that chased me out of the shower and that the neighbors called the police and that my only guess was that Miranda had stepped up her game. Dead Coyote had come to wreck her shit, but now we’d driven all that way for nothing and it was going to be a royal bitch to have to go back home and purge the apartment harder than we’ve ever purged anything before.
“It would have been easier to make her fix it herself,” I groaned.
The more I spoke, the more the color drained out of Eddie’s face. She kept shoveling cereal into her mouth, but there was this wide, wild, fearful look in her eyes like a deer standing in a hunter’s crosshairs. Dead Coyote noticed it first; he clapped me on the shoulder and stared her down like he was trying to will her to spontaneously combust. When she drank the final drops of chocolate milk out of her bowl, she wiped off her mouth with her sleeve and shook her head.
“Oh. Fuck. I didn’t know it would do that.”
I said earlier that I taught Eddie how to do small tricks and charms that she couldn’t fuck up while she was high. What I didn’t know was that Eddie had also been doing research of her own, mostly using Wikipedia and New Age websites manned by folks who didn’t really do any hard studying. It wasn’t that she was wanting to do anything malicious more than she thought it would be a nice gesture if she used what I taught her to try to “help” me out since I wasn’t receptive to her more normal attempts. After all, every college girl wants a guy who could make her walk crooked the next day, right?
She was worried, she said, that the reason that I wasn’t actively looking for love is because I was comparing every man I met to Dead Coyote. That there was unrequited love there, and that I was lonely and sad and unfortunately un-laid because I was holding out for the golden trophy that was a thirty-year-old Honduran man with unkempt hair and neck tattoos. And maybe, just maybe, she could surprise and impress me by playing demonic matchmaker with all of the cool stuff she learned to save my love life and keep me from being such a bitter, frigid person.
“I didn’t expect it to fuck up so bad,” she practically whined.
When the door to her dorm swung open, I couldn’t help but be impressed by her set-up. Even Dead Coyote let out a murmur of surprise at the expertly placed and drawn sigils drawn into the carpet with fabric marker, the assortment of candles all in the correct color, the lights dimmed appropriately, and even tokens she’d collected from us: one of Dead Coyote’s cigarette butts and an old tube of lipgloss that I thought I had lost. As angry as I wanted to be, I was actually kind of flattered that she took the art seriously enough to get it right, even if most of her source material was lacking.
Especially in terms of Glasyalabolas. Because Miranda had never drawn the damn sigil right and Eddie herself had the memory of a goldfish, she didn’t associate the threatening notes with her own helpful ritual. She just knew that Wikipedia said that Glasyalabolas was a big, mean dog who could play matchmaker if you asked nicely, and that she vaguely remembered me telling her that I didn’t like the alternative: “Thor Deer.”
“The fuck did you ask him to do, chica?” Dead Coyote finally asked, after a moment to admire her attention to detail. Eddie shook her head in shame, but after some prodding, finally looked up and squeaked a response.
“To have her naked with you, in your bed, and you both up all night.”
There was silence, then Dead Coyote exploded into laughter, laughter so hard that he sank to the ground in tears, snorting like a feral pig. He told her that, why yes, her request had been fulfilled, that Glasyalabolas had done his job, but not in the way she would have hoped. He had kept us up with godawful, painful, terrifying sex dreams. He had left me so scared to be by myself that I slept in his bed. He did scare me out of the shower while I was undressed so Dead Coyote got a look at me that he, quite frankly, wasn’t expecting.
“You have to be literal,” he explained. “Why didn’t you just ask Glasyalabolas to coerce us to fuck or somethin’?”
“I felt awkward saying it that way.”
We spent the next couple of hours helping teach her how to release spirits and dispel hexes, over the top of her apologizing again and again, nearly in tears because she didn’t realize that magic could backfire so badly despite how many times I had told her it could. It was a bit of an ego stroke to hear her tell me that she didn’t actually think it was possible because she never seen me fuck up so badly, but whatever confidence boost I had was marred by Dead Coyote listing off a lengthy series of things I had ruined, destroyed, killed, cursed, and broken over the course of my illustrious career. By the time I got to helping her scrub up marker from the carpet, she was laughing at stories of me making my first animal sacrifice (it was a pigeon, I cried, it escaped inside his apartment). It was as though she thought she hadn’t messed up at all.
It didn’t stop Dead Coyote from giving her a pretty stern warning on the way out. One that involved breaking both of her arms if she ever tried to summon anything ever again. The only reason I was spared from being chided for teaching her how to do anything in the first place is because, even with the knowledge that Glasyalabolas should be gone, I was still secretly shaken, nauseous, and way too embarrassed about being caught in my birthday suit to actually look Dead Coyote in the face.
With three days left of my break, I sucked up my fear and decided to head back home milk my time off with my favorite person for all it was worth. Besides, even if I was going to forgive Eddie, I still needed time to get over how unbelievably stupid she was. The inside of the apartment still smelled faintly of sulfur and I could occasionally still feel the prickle of an unknown presence tingling down my spine, but it was weak enough that it was obviously residual. Dead Coyote even coaxed me into relaxing about my streaking incident, reminding me of the time I found him passed out in his bathtub in high school.
In his words, “We’ll call it even and never speak of it again.”
But even with the awkwardness and even though I knew we cleaned up pretty well, I kept thinking of Glasyalabolas’ face and the dream about when I was nine. It was forgotten during the day--during the times I was actually enjoying myself--but in the dead of night the first day we got back, I found that I couldn’t take being alone in the living room. Shit would just loop in my head, a highlight reel of trauma, again and again until it propelled me to get up, drag myself up the stairs, and knock on Dead Coyote’s door.
I slept back-to-back with him on his ratty floor mattress for the rest of my spring break. It made me feel like I was a four-year-old but it was worth it to sleep soundly, to feel safe. I just knew I could never tell Eddie whenever I finally spoke to her again.
She’d never let me live it down.
submitted by Ilunibi to nosleep [link] [comments]


2017.07.24 11:58 Klokinator Sex dorm room camera hidden

A sharp beam of light pierces the solar screen outside and lands directly on my face, making me blink my eyes and raise an untrapped arm to shield my face. A computerized voice speaks from the ceiling, softly so as to not wake the other in the room. "Supreme Commander, it is the designated time for you to wake up."
I yawn reflexively and pull some hair out of my mouth as I smack my lips. It's Sarah's hair, not mine. She was so excited to see me that she dozed off on top of me after I plowed her for five hours straight. I feel like part of my soul has been sucked out of my body, along with other uncouth things. Her small, soft, supple form, coupled with her decisive sexual appetite and knowledge contrast dramatically with Lora's. Lora is taller, standing nearly half a head higher, and her body is made of iron thanks to the enhancements I've given her. As well, her past prevents her from fully enjoying sex.
But Sarah is something else. It's like the great gods of this universe engineered the perfect life form. I'm reminded of succubi, from myths of old. The perfect taste, the perfect size, and the perfect feeling... everything a man could want in a woman.
Funny, why do I think of succubi at a time like this? I feel more than a passing feeling of familiarity with the thought. Were there any in Yama's lair? They would be demonic entities, after all.
No. I never saw one.
I flinch slightly as a feeling of pain spreads inside my head. Sometimes I feel like I'm on the verge of something big, but it never pans out. Maybe I've contracted a permanent side effect of the cryosleep sickness sickness. Perhaps I was in the icy containment unit for so much time it screwed up my head.
That's probably all it is.
The woman on top of me mumbles something and I feel a drop of liquid on my chest as she drools in her sleep. I don't mind. It feels good, being this close to a woman. Something about this position too... it feels familiar. Even Sarah herself evokes faint images of a false past. Christ, I'm probably going insane. Did the demons poison me somehow? Being around all those horrors must have messed up my head.
Gently, I roll over and pull Sarah to my side, kissing her hard as our lips meet. I simply can't get enough... she's intoxicating. I want to chew on her breasts all day long, spend the rest of my life with her.
This feeling is... unnatural.
I manage to tear myself away and breathe heavily as I lie on my back. There's a faint noise outside the bedroom, the sound of something rustling around, which makes my heart freeze. It's probably that goddamn demonic animal thing. What in the seven hells created it? Why would that other Jason have something like that roaming around his house? Self-defense? Maybe to protect Sarah? If the latter, I couldn't blame him. There isn't a woman alive comparable to her. If Sarah were to die, I feel like my heart would tear in half.
I sit up and spin carefully to sit on the edge of my bed. The thought of that black hound outside fills me with dread. Quietly, I whisper under my breath. "Wear."
My invisible armor appears on my body and immediately I can breathe a little easier. The thought it would take that mutt some real effort to chew my insides to pieces is somehow comforting.
I stand up and yank my clothes to myself with telekinesis with a practiced movement. All the pieces fly on at once, and I levitate myself in the air to yank my pants onto my legs. If I had what I would call a signature power, a favorite technique, it would be telekinesis.
What about the other Jason? Did he have a preferred ability? Maybe super speed, strength, manipulating the minds of others...
No, even beyond him, what about other Wordsmiths? Didn't Yama say there were more of them? He told me there was an army of them. He claimed they were hunting me down and were going to kill me... yet they don't exist as far as I can see.
Did he lie to me? Have I been wrong, all along?
I understand the need to lie. Lying is one way a weak, frail race like the demons might be able to survive. Keeping slaves to use as sexual currency among the humans is likely just one way they have to maintain order. Demons are more cunning than I might have thought. No doubt they possess plenty of spiritual energy, and many abilities similar to mine, but against the might of humanity, those are trifles.
One thing is for sure. I despise weaklings.
Sarah rustles in the bed behind me as I start to walk to the door. "Jason? Where are you going, honey?"
I turn back to her and smile slightly. "Just to eat some food. Would you like anything?"
She rolls around on the bed, clutching the blankets to her chest for several seconds. Back and forth she rolls until she decides to sit up. "I do! I want three juicy steaks, a big bowl of macaroni and cheese, a plate of smoked salmon, one head of lettuce, a glass of cold milk, and at least fifteen sugar cookies!"
Several long seconds pass as I stare at her giddy, childlike expression of glee. She's serious. "Uh. Okay. I'll get right on that."
I start to reach out with my mind to move the dresser I blocked the door with, but she pipes up again. "Oh! We forgot to pray last night! We have to pray before the meal in that case!"
"Huh? Pray? Why?" I turn to raise an eyebrow at her, and she flops back on the bed. "Duh, silly! It's the law! Jeez, you're so forgetful sometimes. I'll have to ask Marie to take it a little easier on you at the office."
"Oh. The law. I see." I scratch my head at the thought of prayer being mandatory. I'm not a particularly religious person, especially not after finding out demons are real and that angels exist. The whole point of prayer is faith, right? It doesn't take faith to pray to something you know exists.
The dresser heaves away from the door with the power of my mind, and I swallow as I press the unlock button. The door slides up, and I spare a peek around the corner. The massive black hound isn't anywhere to be seen. I carefully walk through the door, keeping my pace slow, and a voice speaks out in the room. "Oh. Supreme Commander. I didn't know you were back from your trip already."
A young boy, about twelve years old, sits at a table, chewing on something that reminds me of a granola bar. He has long blonde hair and blue eyes, just like Sarah and I both. "Who are you?"
He pauses mid-bite and stares at me with a slight confusion on his face, though somehow the regal manner in which he sits belies a certain maturity for his age. "Are you testing me?"
I clear my throat and stand up straight. He seems to regard me with a certain level of awe, so it's best not disrupt that image. "Yes. State your name and our relationship."
Even as he speaks, I feel the memories of him begin to enter my mind. "Sorry, sir. I am Timothy Hiro, your 130th child, the youngest of your bloodline."
I groan inwardly. He's my son, and I just acted like I didn't even know him. This whole 'taking the other Jason's place' is harder than I thought. "Excellent. I'm glad you remember your place."
I calmly continue walking past to the kitchen counter, and just as I'm about to wordsmith some food, Sarah appears at the doorway. Her carefree smile evaporates as she spots Timothy. "W-what are you doing here? You're supposed to be with-"
He stands up quickly, a similar expression on his face. "I apologize, mother. I did not realize father was home. The dormitories are unavailable for a week due to renovations. I assumed father would not be home, so I thought it would be okay if I stayed here for a while." He flinches reflexively and shoots an odd look at me. "Sorry, sir. I didn't mean anything by that."
Huh? What the hell is this kid talking about? "You didn't mean anything by... what?"
He gazes at me silently for a few moments, then lowers his eyes. "I didn't mean to refer to you as 'father'. I know how you don't like that."
A long, uncomfortable silence fills the entire room as everyone stares silently at each other. Finally, I groan loudly. "You may call me 'father'. I don't particularly mind."
"Huh?" Sarah stares at me in disbelief. "What? But- I thought- when did you decide this?"
I shrug and speak a word to the air. "Food." In front of me, a series of plates appear, holding all the foods Sarah had asked for in the bedroom a minute before. "I decided just now. Is that a problem?"
Timothy raises his head up again, but this time, not to look at me... but at the food I created. "How did you do that?"
Sarah stares at me in wide-eyed disbelief. "You just... wordsmithed in front of your son..."
"Wordsmithed?" Timothy turns to his mother. "What is that? It looked like magic- like what the demons use."
Goddammit. Things are going from one to one hundred rapidly.
Still, it won't do to get distressed now. I need to play it cool. I keep my gaze even as I look between the two of them. "I've never really been there for you, have I, Timothy?"
His lip trembles slightly. "Uh... I mean..."
"I've been a terrible father. I see that now." My simple words resonate in the air as both of them glance at each other and back to me. "I went into the labyrinth and saw some disturbing things. Those things are not fit for a conversation among friends or family, so I will spare you both the details. Nevertheless, they shook me to my core."
Sarah nods slowly. "You have been acting strange, sweetheart. I didn't realize that... that you'd gone through so much."
I nod sagely and make a show of closing my eyes as if I'm in pain. "I'm sorry, to both of you. I need to be a better man."
"N-no, you're fine just the way you are, sir." Timothy carefully takes another bite of the granola bar in his hand. "I'm just... confused. I didn't realize you could use... magic..." He glances at Sarah and she smiles at him pleasantly. Underneath her smile though, I feel a sense of hostility. Something akin to stop asking so many questions of your father, but it might just be me.
"Your father has always had these abilities. He and I made a family decision not to let our children know, though. The fewer people who knew, the fewer chances there would be for political enemies to use us against him."
"Oh." Timothy nods. "So not even my elder brothers and sisters know?"
"Not even one." Sarah swallows hard and shoots me a questioning look. I honestly have no idea if it's true, but I wink at her in the affirmative. She glides over and sits down at the table, next to Timothy and touches his hand. "Well, if your father is okay with it, you can stay here until the dorms open again. However, you must agree not to let his secret leave beyond the three of us."
Before Timothy can nod, I pick up two plates of food and walk over to the table, setting both of them in front of Sarah. "I could also erase his memory, you know."
"Yes, you can. You probably should, too." She ignores the food and continues to stare at me as I turn and walk back to grab the rest of her meal.
Timothy clears his throat. "If you must, I understand, sir."
"Stop calling me 'sir'. I don't like it anymore." I set the food down and cut a piece of Sarah's steak off for myself to try it out. The flavor is quite sublime, and the texture is soft and juicy. Just the way I prefer it.
"O-okay. What should I call you then?" Timothy shifts nervously in his seat and grips the remainder of his food bar tighter.
"Just call me 'father'. That will do."
He swallows audibly. "Yes, father. Th-thank you."
I smile pleasantly at him, which only seems to disturb him more. He acts like he's never seen his dad smile, not even once. "There's no reason to be tense. I'm going to do a better job raising you, from now on. Certainly, more than I ever did before. I'm not going to erase your memory either. I am willing to trust my own son, after all."
Sarah smiles abruptly, having taken the situation in stride. "That's why I love you so much, Jason! You're always full of surprises!"
I can't tell if she's pulling my leg. Every time I get a hint of the previous Jason's life, he comes off as a stiff workaholic, and a devout pacifist... assuming Marie's description of his past is accurate. Describing him as being 'full of surprises' is the opposite of what I'd imagine.
As the three of us finish off our food, with me making extra for myself and Timothy, the feeling around the table gradually becomes a little more relaxed, and Timothy even tries to smile as well. He's terrible at it, just like myself, but I have to appreciate him trying. This must be quite the odd experience for him. His father, whom he apparently rarely spoke with, has transformed from a soulless, heartless robot, into someone with a genuine personality.
Gods... I'm doing these two a favor by replacing the previous Jason. I'd kill myself if I ended up as lifeless and empty as he must have been. He wasn't just a weakling, but a terrible parent with no redeeming attributes.
I finish off a cup of orange juice and dab my mouth with a napkin. "Oh... by the way, I've been wondering where that demonic animal has gone."
Timothy tilts his head toward a door. "I don't like him very much, so I usually put him in the other room when I'm here." His face pales immediately after he says this. "I-I mean, if you want, I can release him, father. I didn't realize you would be home, and I was only thinking of myself. I'll just go and-"
"No!! I mean, no, that is fine. Just leave Fido in there. I'm not angry at all, Timothy." A bead of sweat trickles down my back at the realization I just averted a heart attack. At the least, this kid and I are remarkably similar to each other when it comes to that damn dog.
Sarah looks miffed at me. "His name is Skippy, Jason. Seriously... you named him."
I did? Jesus Christ, the other Jason was a major stupid-ass. I'd rather name that animal Lucifer-Fucker or something. "I know, I'm just joking... honey." I spit the pet name out and cringe inwardly. I should just avoid those and let other people use them. They don't suit me at all.
She giggles as if I just said the funniest thing in the world. "Oh, you! You've never been one to have a sense of humor! I like these new changes, it's getting me all hot and bothered."
Timothy shifts in his seat. "Mother..."
"Right, right, sorry! You're still a child, not even two-hundred years old! I can't be talking like that in front of you. I'm such a pervert!"
I spare a glance at Timothy's face. He's almost two hundred years old? Good grief, he's nearly ten times older than me, his so-called 'father'. It's tough to consider giving out fatherly advice to an old man. The only thing old about me is my physical appearance, since I'm deliberately disguising myself as the other Jason.
I clean up the table with my levitation after I'm done, and then get up from my seat. "Alright, Sarah. I'm off. I have a meeting with the local military generals today."
She jumps up and hugs me, rubbing her blessed body against mine excitedly. "Ohhh, do you have to go? Why not take a day off and stay with me?"
"I'd love to, but this is already scheduled. I have to keep up appearances. You know how it is."
She pulls back and gives me a perplexed look. "Nope, no clue! Anyway, we need to pray before you go. It's the law."
Timothy looks up from his chair, startled. "Oh! I forgot last night! I'll join in!"
"Tsk tsk. Like father, like son!" Sarah pulls me back to the table and joins hands with Timothy. All of us sit down and bow our heads, but nobody says anything. I start to feel a little weirded out, but she raises her head back up. "Okay! I gave my energy to Zeus, like usual."
"I as well." Timothy pulls away from her and looks at me.
"I did too." I lie without hesitation. I have no idea what they're talking about, but it's easy enough to play along.
Timothy and Sarah both yawn at the same time. Sarah speaks as soon as she's finished. "Oh man, that took a lot out of me. I'm gonna nap for a while. Have a good day at work!"
She leans over and kisses me on the cheek playfully before getting up and heading to her room. I, in turn, stand and walk to the doorway. "I'll see you tonight, Sarah."
She pauses before entering the room. "Oh, sorry. I'm going over to Marcus Atkins place this evening. I won't be back until the day after, but I'll see you then!"
Huh? Marcus Atkins? Another man?
I decide to ignore that for the moment. I have more pressing concerns. "Right... see you later, then."
Unceremoniously, I wave to Timothy and head out the door. He waves back timidly as well. "Goodbye... father."
Those two words must have taken more courage than even my decision to kill Gressil... when all of this began.
"You too, kid."
...................................
This universe is strange. Foreign. Everything is upside down. The more I learn, the more questions I have to ask. Why the hell would prayer be mandatory, enshrined in the law? Does it help combat the demons or something?
I've hardly asked the question in my mind when the answer appears in the form of one of Supreme Commander Jason's memories.
Prayer gives energy to the angels and gods, who require it to live. This, in turn, forges an unbreakable alliance. Humans do not require this energy for any reason, and thus we can give ours freely. In return, they offer us a one-time life insurance policy: the ability to be reborn as angels if we should die. However, this is shameful. Only a fool would die after being given effective immortality.
Ah, I see. I don't understand how that resurrection system works, but that is a fair trade-off. I should go and visit the angels soon, and see how their society functions, as well as what it looks like.
I move from place to place, taking my time and absorbing the sights as I glance down at the pad in my hand. It's the most advanced piece of electronics I've ever seen in my life, yet the memories the old Jason has of it are littered with words like outdated and obsolete. There are gadgets of far higher technological superiority than even this in existence, and I can't begin to fathom how they might work.
I pause after entering an open area with a glass floor, a large round pod-like building that connects the megascraper I live in to the Stratoscraper I work at. This large intermediary is held up by a long, thin pole that extends up from the planet's surface two miles below. Such a sturdy pole could not be made in the world I came from, but here it is just one of many unbelievable things that allow this world to thrive.
As I walk, I glance down below at what is presumably the planet's surface. The transparent floor allows me to see a thick cloud-like formation of mist, but unlike the white clouds I saw when I was growing up, these are brown, as if someone had stained the clouds with thick paint. I cannot see the ground at all. There are numerous smaller buildings visible in between skyscrapers, megascrapers, and stratoscrapers, but all of the smaller buildings extend only a little above the clouds. Most are barely even visible.
Smog. The word pops into my head and I stare with a feeling of melancholy. In the end, humanity ruined the Earth. We exploited it to hell and back, and now we live in these massive buildings not out of luxury, but necessity.
I pull my datapad up to look at it. Something catches my eye that I hadn't noticed before. The ambient temperature around me is a perfect twenty-one degrees Celsius, but the temperature outside is listed as... fifty-five degrees? Good god, the greenhouse effect must be in full swing. The sun doesn't appear any brighter in the sky, so I doubt it's that.
I continue walking through the center building and eventually arrive in the stratoscraper that leads to my office, and other military facilities. As my memories arrive one by one, pieces fall into place. In addition to the diplomacy venues, my office, the Engineering Corps, and other such facilities, this building also is a place where four hundred million humans show up to work every single day. I wonder what sort of tasks they have to complete? There were never enough jobs in the time I came from, so with all of the automation on display, either unemployment has been eradicated, or something shifted fundamentally in society to allow so many jobs to exist.
I head toward an elevator, and a chill goes down my spine as a voice speaks from a dark corner off to the side. "There you are, Jason Hiro." Yama steps slightly from the darkness to look at me, though he stays tucked away where the light can't reach him.
"Yama? What are you doing here? Aren't you in danger walking among humans?" I step toward him and glance around hesitantly. "There are a lot of cameras and people around here... this is a foolish move just to see me. You're going to get both of us caught."
"Unlikely. This is where I meet all of my informants. It is just off the beaten path, and this hover-shaft services only elites in the upper levels. In any case, I am in contact with many of them already."
"I see. Still, why are you bothering me? I wasn't expecting to run into you."
He holds his hand forward, and I spot a familiar black orb at once. "You left behind your source of power. Blaarjiim can give answers to many questions I am certain you have."
"Oh. Right." I quickly step forward and pluck the black orb from his hands, then stare at it uneasily. "This thing is the size of a softball. How am I supposed to hide it?"
Blaarjiim's ancient face appears in my mind. "Your wordsmithing is the source of many abilities that you have yet to discover. Simply speak the word 'storage' and I can be hidden there and pulled out whenever you wish. However, this has the downside that I will be cut off from the physical realm and left all alone... so I would prefer you not do this unless necessary."
"Huh. That's an option, I suppose." I scratch my chin and look down at Yama. "I have a question though since you're here. It's in regards to the Supreme Commander whose place I took."
He folds his arms together and stares at me. "Go on."
"You said that there were hundreds, even thousands of other Wordsmiths that could kill me, yet the Supreme Commander knew of only himself and I. Did you lie to me?"
He nods. "I did. However, in a way, I did not."
"I don't understand."
"Neither do I." Yama hisses and looks to my side as if deep in thought. "I know that other Wordsmiths exist. I have seen them. I am certain Marie knows of their existence as well. In my spying, I have seen them come and go, yet from where they hail, I am not sure."
"So they do exist? You're cryptic." I growl in irritation. "Why can't you just be honest with me? I understand why you might lie, but it isn't an endearing quality or one that builds a positive alliance up. Rather, it will tear down any trust we could have."
Yama sneers at me and leans back against the wall. "You play with words that hold no meaning. I trust you as little as you trust me. It is for the foolish. I have placed a nugget of hope that you might be useful to me one day, but I know you might turn your personal prejudice against me as well. It is a risky gamble, but one that I am willing to take."
Blaarjiim smiles in the back of my brain. "Humans consolidate their power and use their numerical and technological superiority to crush demonkind, while demons bicker and squabble among each other for the rights to rule increasingly smaller plots of land. It is apparent that one of these two is going to win this war while the other loses. Yama, you would do well to speak the truth in front of this human. You've foolishly given him the chance to destroy you if he wishes."
I pat the orb lovingly with my free hand. "That's the spirit, Blaarjiim. Yama, he's correct. I don't like it when people aren't straight with me. A little honesty would help our relationship mature."
Yama's smirk fades away, and he glares at me listlessly. "If you think the demons are full of lies, you have yet to meet the rest of your kind. The best way I have found to ensure the safety of my species is by harnessing the greed of yours. You will soon find this out, one way or another. I seek only one thing; to return demons to their former numbers and to rebuild our kind to their former glory. I do not seek the destruction of humanity, merely the sovereignty of my own. Is that too much to ask for, human?"
I sigh and stare at Blaarjiim for several seconds. "Not really, I suppose. I can understand, and even respect that ideal."
"Most excellent. Then we see eye to eye on this issue."
The demon smiles cunningly at me, and I resist the urge to quip. Eye to eye? But I'm six-feet tall, and you're just under four!
Yeah, that would be slightly disrespectful. "We do. In any case, I have a meeting to attend to. Thank you for the... present."
An idea pops into my head from seemingly nowhere. "Oh, Blaarjiim, are you capable of being silent when out in the open? No speaking at all, not even to me in my mind."
"I am."
Great. That makes this easy for me. I quickly wordsmith a sling that wraps over my shoulder and loops down to my waist. I then set Blaarjiim inside of it. "Invisible."
The sling and his orb both vanish from view. Yama smiles creepily at me. "An inventive solution, as expected. However, Marie has energy sensors everywhere. They may pick him up if you pass inside their range. This area is a blind spot, so it's fine for now."
"I understand. In that case, what if..." I aim my mind at Blaarjiim's now-invisible orb. "Suppress."
Yama tosses his hands in the air. "I can no longer sense him. You'd best hope you don't drop his orb, or you're unlikely to find it."
"I wouldn't say that. Summon." With a single word, his invisible orb disappears from the sling and reappears in my hand.
Yama gapes at me for a moment for regaining his composure. "You have this under control. I will be going, then."
I nod and turn to walk toward the hover-shaft. "And I as well. Thank you for bringing Blaarjiim to me, Yama."
Yama doesn't reply, and instead makes a sign with his hands. He vanishes, and I'm left standing by my lonesome.
"The Second Emperor is a formidable demon, you know. Even so, he is worried about what your appearance will do to human society, for the good or the bad." Blaarjiim chuckles softly. "Heh... I warned Yama once... he had stabilized the situation. Throwing a wrench in the machine is a terrible choice. The humans lack the diplomatic votes needed to exterminate the demons, and the previous Supreme Commander was a sympathetic man to the demon's cause. He didn't wish to eliminate them, albeit less because he liked demons, and more because of what would happen after."
"After?"
"If humanity has no enemy, they will invent a new one. It's as simple as that."
"Cheh. Life is boring without conflict. Rainbows and bunnies are not what I live for." I step into the hover-shaft and press the button which will take me to the conference floor.
"What is a 'bunny'?"
Blaarjiim's confused expression makes me almost laugh. "It's nothing. Just an animal humanity has probably exterminated."
The bastards.
...................................
Yaaaawn! I'm tired! Enjoy the part!
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2016.04.02 21:11 tabledresser Hidden camera dorm room sex

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Date: 2016-04-02
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Questions Answers
My questions: What is some advice you have for people who like to write "experimental" sketches as well? And what are you doing since you left SNL? I'd love to watch some of your new stuff. All things that you create should be experimental on some level. (Not to be confused with making something weird just for weird's sake.) If people are slightly confused by whatever you are creating, that's kinda a good thing. If EVERYONE is confused by whatever you are creating, that's probably a bad thing. Also, I got to work with my buds at Ralph Smyth again and Rooster Teeth on "Crunch Time" which is amazing. That's also comes out this summer for Rooster Teeth subscribers. It was shot out in Austin, TX, which I fucking love. And working with that production company is a joy. The produced Intramural errr "Balls out" which is a incredible movie that Beck and I got to be apart with. Most all of the people who were behind that movie I still work with and will continue to work with if I have anything to say about it.
Yo Nick! Will you tell the story about how you guys got the note from Spielberg and because of weird comedy of errors, Spielberg prolly still thinks you blew him off? Yes.
SO, after "Unbelievable Dinner" we got an email from Steven Spielberg. It said something to the effect of "Hi! My daughter Sasha showed me your videos and I've been howling with laughter. Keep up the good work."
And we obviously freaked out, I think Kyle still has a copy of it in his wallet.
We obsessed over how we would reply. We settled on something like: "Thanks Steven. We've been watching your stuff too. Seems like you are on the right track. Keep making videos."
We sent it to him, and never heard back.
YEARS later I ran into some dude at a bar who was best friends with Spielberg's daughter. He said "Did you ever get an email from Steven Spielberg?" And I said "Yes! We wrote him back and he never replied!" And he said, "Huh. He never got your reply. He was very bummed. He assumed you thought it was a joke."
So his assistant never forwarded our freaking email to him!!!
If his assistant had, we would all be super successful and in all "The Hangover" movies.
The Imaginary Dinner video was and still is one of my all time favorite YouTube videos. That video was amazing! Any fun bits of info about the vid and how it was made? Also were you on the episode of the office where Dwight hosts the Garden Party? Thanks! I feel like we were babies shooting that video. Kyle initial had the idea to do a "Hook" dinner vid, I got excited because I'm always into breaking fake glass. The "magic" is just a whip pan and a poorly hidden cut. For a long time we relied pretty heavily on that camera move. In general we tried to do all effects in camera because that was the limit of our abilities. I also remember hating filming that because Kyle and Beck got to eat this crazy feast, and I just had to be pissed all the time.
How much of videos like "sporty" or "toast" are scripted vs. improvised? Sporty I can't really speak for because that's Kyle and Dave just fucking around but Toast was rehearsed and rehearsed and shot over two separate nights. We shot a version one night, decided we needed to go further with it, rejigged it, added the Ex-gf, and the beast, and re-shot it again.
That's a good lesson there. Don't settle. We have a handful of sketches that are fully cut, edited and sit on a hard drive somewhere because we weren't happy with the final product. We were always very critical of our own content. So when we finally got some eyes on it, we had a nice little stock pile of stuff we were happy with.
How did it feel when Kyle, Beck, and Dave went to SNL without you? Was there any bad blood for a bit? Did they have a big influence on getting you a job there? It stunk. I don't blame anyone and I don't think that it could have happened any differently. That show is such an institution that when you get called up to it, you just go. It was a bummer that we never got to do our show with CC, but ultimately I think that show has propelled all of us. Of course B,K and D had an influence.
I don't know how directly, and I really don't know why Lorne and co would break us up to begin with, but when they started doing well on the show, that definitely opened up an opportunity for me to get out there too.
Ever had writer's blocks or problems with being creative while having to meet deadlines? Yeah. That's part of the process. I find just typing anything helps. I will open up a text.doc or an email and just free flow type.
I.e.: "this is stupid, I can't think of anything to write what is the ending going to be I don't know you can do this just keep typing think think fuck this you can do better then this what if he shot the guy thats dumb what if they shoot the dad no no no no okay, just type you are doing your job I want a salad oh! I got it"
Hey Nick! My entire dorm was such huge fans of Good Neighbor, and so many of your videos are inside jokes for us now that we're adults. There's just one question I've been meaning to ask you: what are your views on circumcision? Haha! My friend JUST had a baby and this topic came up recently. I don't really know. It seems like a it's something that comes in and out of fashion. I got a pretty good cut on me. (see Instagram pic. Actually don't. It got taken down.) But some of those elephant noses out there look pretty good too. To each his own.
On a human level, it is odd that a little perfect baby boy pops out of momma and then we take him and chop a bit of his penis off... Does someone keep those? Is that where calamari comes from?
Hey Nick! I think you watched me and Ben Kronberg eat wings on Periscope once. So that's our personal connection. So you going on tour anytime soon? I'm going to try and string together some dates this summer actually. I went out to Indy on a whim and did a couple dates and the response was real encouraging. TBH, I'm racked with self doubt and constantly think no one gives a shit about me, (and I'm sure plenty of people do not) but things like this AMA, and having people come out to shows is very very rewarding. It's something I hope to never have to stop. Also I'm a big boozer so being on the road is the best.
Whatever happened to the comedy central pilot you guys were suppose to do? Oh man. CC liked it, but their advertisers said "What the fuck is this?" So they basically told us to make another one that they were going to air, around that time, Beck, Kyle and Dave got picked up on SNL and the deal dissolved.
The pilot exists. Only a handful of people have seen it. We are really trying to figure out when and how to release it eventually.
I'm sure you get it all the time, but across the pond I never hear any news. Any chance of a Theatre of Life return? I've wasted too many hours watching you guys extreme masturbate. Eric needs to be put in his place once more. Would love to do more Theatre of Life. Obviously we all got pretty busy and living on two different coasts makes shooting that hard. But I don't think TOL is over just yet... Those days on the beach were too much fun and Eric sucks.
Also would be interested to hear the story behind why you were only with SNL for 1 year. As for writing at SNL for one year, not much of a story behind it. I got hired and then my contract wasn't picked up. I wish there was a "I stormed into Lornes office and pissed on his desk" story but that's just how things go. Thanks, and goodbye.
Nice to know it's still on the cards. Thanks for the answers and thanks for all the laughs too :) Thank you Matteratzi. Cool name too.
Do you miss doing theater of life? I subconsciously make fun of people in my head in a stupid voice now because of your show. Can't imagine that's easy to give up having actually done the show yourself. Of course. It was so fun. We would literally just hang at the beach and make up little stories. Something about it really resonated with people, and that felt awesome.
If theres any advice to gleam from it, we were having a great time, and people like watching that. So do something you truly like, and people will appreciate it. Unless you like having sex with kids or something sick, sickos.
What's your favorite sketch you wrote for SNL? Were there any ideas you had that didn't get made? So many ideas don't get made there. My favorite sketch I wrote got cut at the dress rehearsal. Here it is.
Link to www.youtube.com
I think it got cut because there was a "rape" element to it... But would have loved for it to air with changes. Happy to defend this sketch till the day I die.
Does snl hold on to sketches written in the past for a possible revision and airing at a later date? Or does the writer keep the rights to it? I don't really know... So much content is produced on a weekly basis so there really isn't a need to hold on to something. Some sketches will hit the table read a few times before finally going, but that is rare. The show has this momentum that sweeps up everything, so it's hard to hold on to an idea or be precious about anything.
Went to one of your shows in Indianapolis a few years back and we grabbed drinks at Kilroy's after the show. Had an awesome time. Thanks for doing this AMA! We had a great party house for a long time. Everything you are picturing is correct. We had a room dedicated to beer pong. We had shitty Coors Light bar mirrors, a fire pit in the backyard. One sudsy nardbar for everyone to share. there was probably broken glass everywhere. It was the best.
What's your favorite memory from when you lived with the Good Neighbor guys? Was it the nardbar? And I was just back at Kilroys a few weeks ago. I'm a huge fan of shuffleboard.
Saw you guys perform in SF recently. Math Magic was such a great skit. Who wrote that one? Thanks man! I wrote that! That's really fun to perform and because the cast is so big it's always fun to put our friends in it. Also, Kyle as a heckler and Beck as a business guy can never fail. That SF show was so much fun. We were supposed to do SketchFest again this year, but the dates didn't work out.
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